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[Page  S8 


THAKK  THE  LORD  !      NOW  I  CAN  SEE  TO  LOOK  FOR 


MORIAITS   MOURNING 

and  Other  Half-Hour  Sketches 
By  RUTH  McENERY  STUART 

Author   of  "In  Simpldnsville" 
"A     Golden     Wedding11     etc. 

WITH      ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 
HARPER    &     BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 


BOOKS  BY 
RUTH   McENERY   STUART 

A  GOLDEN  WEDDING.     Illustrated.  .Post  8vo  $1.50 

CARLOTTA'S  INTENDED.    Illustrated.  .Post  8vo  1.50 

Forget-me-not  Edition.     Illustrated. 1-25 

STORY  OF  BABETTE.     Illustrated.  . .  .Post  8vo  1.50 

THE   WOMAN'S    EXCHANGE i6mo  .50 

Forget-me-not  Edition.     Illustrated ....  8vo  1.25 
SOLOMON  CROW'S  CHRISTMAS  POCKETS.     Ill'd. 

Post  8vo  1.25 

IN    SIMPKINSVILLE.     Illustrated Post  8vo  1.25 

MORIAH'S  MOURNING.    Illustrated ...  Post  8vo  1.25 
THE  SECOND  WOOING  OP  SALINA  SUE. 

Post  8vo  1.25 

THE     SNOW-CAP     SISTERS i6mo,  Paper  .23 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS,    N.    Y. 


Copyright,  1899,  by  HARPFTI  & 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

MOKIAH'S  MOURNING 8 

AN  OPTICAL  DILEMMA 19 

THE   SECOND   MRS.    SLIMM 37 

APOLLO   BELVEDERE.     A   CHRISTMAS   EPISODE    OF 

THE  PLANTATION 53 

NEAREST  OF  KIN.    (ON  THE  PLANTATION)  ....  71 

THE  DEACON'S  MEDICINE 93 

TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  LEISURE 113 

THE  REV.  JORDAN  WHITE'S  THREE  GLANCES  .    .     .  131 

LADY.    A  MONOLOGUE  OF  THE  COW-PEN    ....  157 

A  PULPIT  ORATOR 165 

AN  EASTER  SYMBOL.    A  MONOLOGUE  OF  THE  PLAN 
TATION        175 

CHRISTMAS   AT   THE   TRIMBLES' 181 

A  MINOR  CHORD  .             211 


ILLUSTEATIOISTS 


"  '  THANK  THE  LORD  !  NOW  I  CAN  SHE  TO  LOOK 

FOR  'EM!'  " Frontispiece 

"A  SURPRISED  AND  SMILING  MAN  WAS  SIT 
TING  AT  HER  POLISHED  KITCHEN  TABLE  "  Facing  p.  8 

'"I'M  AC-CHILLY  MOST  AFEERD  TO  SEE  YOU 

CONVERTED'" "         40 

"'I  PROMISED  HIM  I'D  PUT  ON  MO'NIN'  FOR 

HER    SOON    AS    I    MARRIED    INTO    DK 

FAMILY'" "  74 

' '  SAYS  SHE,  '  OPEN  YORE  MOUTH  !'  AN'  OF 

CO'SE  I  OPENED  IT" "  98 

"I  DBS  LETS  'EM  LOOSE  P'OMISKYUS,  TELL 

EV'YBODY  SEE  BLUE  LIGHTNIN'"  ...  "  134 
"  SALVATION'S  KYAR  is  MOVIN' !"  ....  "  148 

"  '  WON'T  YER,  PLEASE,  SIR,  SPELL  DAT  WORD 

OUT  FUR  ME   SLOW?'".  "  168 


MOKIAH'S    MOUKNING 


MOEIAH'S    MOUENING 


MORI  AH  was  a  widow  of  a  month,  and  when 
she  announced  her  intention  of  marrying 
again,    the   plantation    held   its   breath. 
Then  it  roared  with  laughter. 

Not  because  of  the  short  period  of  her  mourn 
ing  was  the  news  so  incredible.  But  by  a  most 
exceptional  mourning  Moriah  had  put  herself 
upon  record  as  the  most  inconsolable  of  widows. 
So  prompt  a  readjustment  of  life  under  similar 
conditions  was  by  no  means  unprecedented  in 
colored  circles. 

The  rules  governing  the  wearing  of  the  mourn 
ing  garb  are  by  no  means  stringent  in  plantation 
communities,  and  the  widow  who  for  reasons  of 
economy  or  convenience  sees  fit  to  wear  out  her 
colored  garments  during  her  working  hours  is 
not  held  to  account  for  so  doing  if  she  appear  at 
all  public  functions  clad  in  such  weeds  as  she 
3 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

may  find  available.  It  is  not  even  needful,  in 
deed,  that  her  supreme  effort  should  attain  any 
definite  standard.  Anybody  can  collect  a  few 
black  things,  and  there  is  often  an  added  pathos 
in  the  very  incongruity  of  some  of  the  mourn 
ing  toilettes  that  pass  up  the  aisles  of  the  col 
ored  churches. 

Was  not  the  soul  of  artlessness  expressed  in 
the  first  mourning  of  a  certain  young  widow,  for 
instance,  who  sewed  upon  her  blue  gown  all  the 
black  trimming  she  could  collect,  declaring  that 
she  "  would  V  dyed  de  frock  th'oo  an'  th'oo 
'cep  V  it  would  V  swunked  it  up  too  much  "  ? 
And  perhaps  her  sympathetic  companions  were 
quite  as  naive  as  she,  for,  as  they  aided  her  in 
these  first  hasty  stitches,  they  poured  upon  her 
wounded  spirit  the  healing  oil  of  full  and  sym 
pathetic  approval,  as  the  following  remarks  will 
testify. 

"  Dat  frock  mo'ns  all  right,  now  de  black  bows 
is  on  it." 

"You  kin  put  any  colored  frock  in  mo'nin' 
'cep'n'  a  red  one.  Sew  black  on  red,  an'  it 
laughs  in  yo'  face." 

"  I'm  a-sewin'  de  black  fringe  on  de  josey,  Sis 
Jones,  'case  fringe  hit  mo'ns  a  heap  mo'nfuler  'n 
ribbon  do." 

4 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Needless  to  say,  a  license  so  full  and  free  as 
this  found  fine  expression  in  a  field  of  flowering 
weeds  quite  rare  and  beautiful  to  see. 

Moriah  had  proven  herself  in  many  ways  an 
exceptional  person  even  before  the  occasion  of 
her  bereavement,,  and  in  this.,  contrary  to  all 
precedent,  she  had  rashly  cast  her  every  gar 
ment  into  the  dye-pot,  sparing  not  even  so  much 
as  her  underwear. 

Moriah  was  herself  as  black  as  a  total  eclipse, 
tall,  angular,  and  imposing,  and  as  she  strode 
down  the  road,  clad  in  the  sombre  vestments  of 
sorrow,  she  was  so  noble  an  expression  of  her 
own  idea  that  as  a  simple  embodiment  of  digni 
fied  surrender  to  grief  she  commanded  respect. 

The  plantation  folk  were  profoundly  impressed, 
for  it  had  soon  become  known  that  her  black 
garb  was  not  merely  a  thing  of  the  surface. 

"Moriah  sho'  does  mo'n  for  Numa.  She 
mo'ns  fom  de  skin  out."  Such  was  popular 
comment,  although  it  is  said  that  one  practical 
sister,  to  whom  this  "inward  mo'nin'"  had 
little  meaning,  ventured  so  far  as  to  protest 
against  it. 

"Sis  Moriah/'  she  said,  timidly,  as  she  sat 
waiting  while  Moriah  dressed  for  church — "Sis 
Moriah,  look  ter  me  like  you'd  be  'feerd  dem 
5 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

black  shimmies  'd  draw  out  some  sort  o'  tetter 
on  yo'  skin/'  to  which  bit  of  friendly  warning 
Moriah  had  responded,  with  a  groan,  and  in  a 
voice  that  was  almost  sepulchral  in  its  awful  so 
lemnity,  "  When  I  mo'n  I  mo'n  !" 

Perhaps  an  idea  of  the  unusual  presence  of 
this  great  black  woman  may  be  conveyed  by  the 
fact  that  when  she  said,  as  she  was  wont  to  do  in 
speaking  of  her  own  name,  "  I'm  named  Moriah 
— after  a  Bible  mountain,"  there  seemed  a  sort 
of  fitness  in  the  name  and  in  the  juxtaposition 
neither  the  sacred  eminence  or  the  woman  suf 
fered  a  loss  of  dignity. 

And  this  woman  it  was  who,  after  eight  years 
of  respectable  wifehood  and  but  four  weeks  of 
mourning  her  lost  mate,  calmly  announced  that 
she  was  to  be  married  again. 

The  man  of  her  choice — I  use  the  expression 
advisedly — was  a  neighbor  whom  she  had  al 
ways  known,  a  widower  whose  bereavement  was 
of  three  months'  longer  standing  than  her 
own. 

The  courtship  must  have  been  brief  and  to  the 
point,  for  it  was  positively  known  that  he  and 
his  fiancee  had  met  but  three  times  in  the  inter 
val  when  the  banns  were  published. 

He  had  been  engaged  to  whitewash  the  kitchen 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

in  which  she  had  pursued  her  vocation  as  cook 
for  the  writer's  family. 

The  whitewashing  was  done  in  a  single  morn 
ing,  but  a  second  coating  was  found  necessary, 
and  it  is  said  by  one  of  her  fellow-servants,  who 
professes  to  have  overheard  the  remark,  that 
while  Pete  was  putting  the  finishing-touches  to 
the  bit  of  chimney  back  of  her  stove,  Moriah, 
who  stooped  at  the  oven  door  beside  him,  bast 
ing  a  roast  turkey,  lifted  up  her  stately  head  and 
said,  archly,  breaking  her  mourning  record  for 
the  first  time  by  a  gleaming  display  of  ivory  and 
coral  as  she  spoke, 

"Who'd  V  thought  you'd  come  into  my 
kitchen  to  do  yo'  secon'  co'tin',  Pete  ?" 

At  which,  so  says  our  informant,  the  white 
wash  brush  fell  from  the  delighted  artisan's 
hands,  and  in  a  shorter  time  than  is  consumed 
in  the  telling,  a  surprised  and  smiling  man  was 
sitting  at  her  polished  kitchen  table  chatting 
cosily  with  his  mourning  hostess,  while  she 
served  him  with  giblets  and  gravy  and  rice  and 
potatoes  "an'  coffee  b'iled  expressly." 

It  was  discovered  that  the  kitchen  walls  needed 
a  third  coating.  This  took  an  entire  day,  "be 
cause,"  so  said  Pete,  "de  third  coat,  hit  takes 
mo'  time  to  soak  in." 

7 


MORIAirS    MOURNING 

And  then  came  the  announcement.  Moriah 
herself,  apparently  in  nowise  embarrassed  by  its 
burden,  bore  the  news  to  us  on  the  following 
morning.  There  was  no  visible  change  of  front 
in  her  bearing  as  she  presented  herself  —  no 
abatement  of  her  mourning. 

"  Mis'  Gladys/'  she  said,  simply,  "  I  come  ter 
give  you  notice  dat  I  gwine  take  fo'  days  off, 
startin'  nex'  Sunday/' 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  in  any  new  trouble,  Mo 
riah  ?"  I  said,  sympathetically. 

"  Well,  I  don'  know  ef  I  is  or  not.  Me  an' 
Pete  Pointdexter,  we  done  talked  it  over,  an'  we 
come  ter  de  conclusion  ter  marry." 

I  turned  and  looked  at  the  woman — at  her  black 
garments,  her  still  serious  expression.  Surely 
my  hearing  was  playing  me  false.  But  catching 
my  unspoken  protest,  she  had  already  begun 
to  explain. 

"Dey  ain't  no  onrespec'  ter  de  dead,  Mis' 
Gladys,  in  marryin',"  she  began.  "De  onre 
spec'  is  in  de  carryiris  on  folks  does  when  dey 
marry.  Pete  an'  me,  we  'low  ter  have  eve'y- 
thing  quiet  an'  solemncholy — an'  pay  all  due  re 
spects — right  an'  left.  Of  co'se  Pete's  chillen 
stands  up  fur  dey  mammy,  an'  dey  don't  take 
no  stock  in  him  ma'yin'  ag'in.  But  Ca'line  she 
8 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

been  dead  long  enough — mos'  six  months — count- 
in'  f o'  weeks  ter  de  mont'.  An'  as  fur  me,  I  done 
'ranged  ter  have  everything  did  ter  show  respec's 
ter  Numa."  (Numa  was  her  deceased  husband.) 
"De  organ-player  he  gwine  march  us  in  chu'ch 
by  de  same  march  he  played  fur  Numa's  fun'al, 
an'  look  like  dat  in  itse'f  is  enough  ter  show  de 
world  dat  I  ain't  forgot  Numa.  An',  tell  de  trufe, 
Mis'  Gladys,  ef  Numa  was  ter  rise  up  f'om  his 
grave,  Fd  sen'  Pete  a-flyin'  so  fast  you  could  sen' 
eggs  t0*market  on  his  coat  tail. 

"  You  see,  de  trouble  is  I  done  had  my  eye  on 
Pete's  chillen  ever  sence  dey  mammy  died,  an'  ef 
dey  ever  was  a  set  o'  onery,  low-down,  sassy,  no- 
'count  little  niggers  dat  need  takin'  in  hand  by 
a  able-bodied  step-mammy,  dey  a-waitin'  fur  me 
right  yonder  in  Pete's  cabin.  My  hand  has  des 
nachelly  itched  to  take  aholt  o'  dat  crowd  many 
a  day — an'  ever  sence  I  buried  Numa  of  co'se  I 
see  de  way  was  open.  An'  des  as  soon  as  I  felt 
like  I  could  bring  myse'f  to  it,  I — well —  Dey 
warn't  no  use  losin'  time,  an'  so  /  toV  you,  missy, 
dat  de  kitchen  need'  white-washin' ." 

"And  so  you  sent  for  him — and  proposed  to 
him,  did  you  ?" 

"  Propose  to  who,  Mis'  Gladys  ?    I'd  see  Pete 
in  de  sinkin'  swamp  'fV  I'd  p'opose  to  him  I" 
9 


MOKIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  Then  how  did  you  manage  it,  pray  ?" 

( '  G'way,  Mis'  Gladys  !  Any  wide-awake  wid- 
der  'oman  dat  kin  get  a  widder  man  whar  he 
can't  he'p  but  see  her  move  round  at  her  work 
for  two  days  hand-runnin',  an'  can't  mesmerize 
him  so's  he'll  ax  her  to  marry  him —  Um — hm  ! 
I'd  ondertake  ter  do  dat,  even  ef  I  warn't  no 
cook  ;  but  wid  seasonin's  an'  flavors  to  he'p  me — 
Law,  chile  !  dey  warn't  no  yearthly  'scape  fur 
dem  chillen  ! 

"I  would  V  waited,"  she  added,  presently — 
"I  would  V  waited  a  reas'nable  time,  'cep'n  dat 
Pete  started  gwine  ter  chu'ch,  an'  you  know 
yo'se'f,  missy,  when  a  well-favored  widder  man 
go  ter  seek  consolation  f'om  de  pulpit,  he's 
might'  ap'  ter  find  it  in  de  congergation." 

As  I  sat  listening  to  her  quiet  exposition  of 
her  scheme,  it  seemed  monstrous. 

"And  so,  Moriah,"  I  spoke  now  with  a  ring 
of  real  severity  in  my  voice — ' '  and  so  you  are 
going  to  marry  a  man  that  you  confess  you  don't 
care  for,  just  for  the  sake  of  getting  control  of 
his  children  ?  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  of 
you." 

"  Well— partly,  missy."  She  smiled  a  little 
now  for  the  first  time.  ' '  Partly  on  dat  account, 
an'  partly  on  his'n.  Pete's  wife  Ca'line,  she  was 
10 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

a  good  'oman,  but  she  was  mighty  puny  an1 
peevish  ;  an'  besides  dat,  she  was  one  o'  deze  heah 
naggers,  an'  Pete  is  allus  had  a  purty  hard  pull, 
an'  I  lay  out  ter  give  him  a  better  chance.  Eve'y 
bit  o'  whitewashin'  he'd  git  ter  do  'roun'  town, 
Ca'line  she'd  swaller  it  in  medicine.  But  she  was 
a  good  'oman,  Ca'line  was.  Heap  o'  deze  heah 
naggers  is  good  'omans  !  Co'se  I  don't  say  I  loves 
Pete,  but  I  looks  ter  come  roun'  ter  'im  in  time. 
Ef  I  didn't,  I  wouldn't  have  him." 
"And  how  about  his  loving  yon  ?" 
"Oh,  Mis'  Gladys,  you  is  so  searching  !"  She 
chuckled.  "Co'se  he  say  he  loves  me  already 
better'n  he  love  Ca'line,  but  of  co'se  a  widder 
man  he  feels  obleeged  ter  talk  dat-a-way.  An'  ef 
he  didn't  have  the  manners  ter  say  it,  I  wouldn't 
have  him,  to  save  his  life ;  but  ef  he  meant  it,  I'd 
despise  Mm.  After  Ca'line  lovin'  de  groun'  he 
tread  fur  nine  long  yeahs,  he  ain't  got  no  right 
ter  love  no  'oman  better'n  he  love  her  des  'caze 
he's  a-projec'in'  ter  git  married  to  'er.  But 
of  co'se,  Mis'  Gladys,  I  ca'culates  ter  outstrip 
Ca'line  in  co'se  o'  time.  Ef  I  couldn't  do  dat — 
an'  she  in  'er  grave — an'  me  a  cook — I  wouldn't 
count  myse'f  much.  An'  den,  time  I  outstrips 
her  an'  git  him  over,  heart  an'  soul,  I'll  know  it 
by  de  signs." 

11 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"Why  will  you  know  it  more  than  you  know 
it  now  ?  He  can  but  swear  it  to  you." 

"Oh  no,  missy.  When  de  rock  bottom  of  a 
man's  heart  warms  to  a  'oman,  he  eases  off  f  om 
swearin'  'bout  it.  Deze  heah  men  wha'  swear  so 
much,  dey  swear  des  as  much  ter  convince  dey- 
selves  as  dey  does  ter  ketch  a  'oman's  ear.  No, 
missy.  Time  I  got  him  heart  an9  soul,  I  looks 
for  him  to  commence  to  Wow  up  Ca'line's  ways 
ter  me.  Heap  of  'em  does  dat  des  ter  ease  dey 
own  consciences  an'  pacify  a  dead  'oman's  ghost. 
Dat's  de  way  a  man  nachelly  do.  But  he  won't 
faze  me,  so  long  as  I  holds  de  fort !  An'  fur  de 
chillen,  co'se  quick  as  I  gits  'em  broke  in  I'll  see 
dat  dey  won't  miss  Ca'line  none.  Dat  little 
teether,  I  done  toil'  Pete  ter  fetch  her  over  ter 
me  right  away.  Time  I  doctors  her  wid  proper 
teas,  an'  washes  her  in  good  warm  pot-liquor, 
I'll  make  a  fus'-class  baby  out'n  her." 

Moriah  had  always  been  a  good  woman,  and  as 
she  stood  before  me,  laying  bare  the  scheme  that, 
no  matter  what  the  conditions,  had  in  it  the 
smallest  selfish  consideration,  I  felt  my  heart 
warm  to  her  again,  and  I  could  not  but  feel  that 
the  little  whitewasher  —  a  kindly,  hard-pressed 
family  man  of  slight  account — would  do  well  to 
lay  his  brood  upon  her  ample  bosom. 
13 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Of  course  she  was  marrying  him,  and  her  ac 
quisition  of  family  would  inevitably  become  pen 
sioners  upon  our  bounty  ;  but  this  is  not  a  great 
matter  in  a  land  where  the  so-called  "cultiva 
tion  "  of  the  soil  is  mainly  a  question  of  pruning 
and  selection,  and  clothes  grow  upon  the  com 
monest  bush. 

As  she  turned  to  go,  I  even  offered  her  my 
best  wishes,  and  when  I  laughingly  asked  her  if 
I  might  help  her  with  her  wedding-dress,  she 
turned  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Bless  yo'  heart,  Mis'  Gladys,"  she  exclaimed, 
"/  ain't  gwine  out  o'  mo'nin  Y  I  gwine  marry 
Pete  in  des  what  I  got  on  my  back.  I'll  marry 
him,  an'  I'll  take  dem  little  no-'counts  o'  his'n, 
an'  I'll  make  folks  out'n  'em  'fo'  I  gits  th'ough  wid 
'em,  ef  Gord  spares  me ;  but  he  nee'n't  ter  lay 
out  ter  come  in  'twix'  me  an'  my  full  year  o' 
mo'nin'  fur  Numa.  When  I  walks  inter  dat 
chu'ch,  'cep'n'  fur  de  owange  wreaf,  which  of  co'se 
in  a  Christian  ma'iage  I'm  boun'  ter  wear,  folks 
'11  be  a  heap  mo'  'minded  o'  Numa  'n  dey  will  o' 
de  bridegroom.  An'  dem  chillen  o'  his'n,  which 
ain't  nuver  is  had  no  proper  mo'nin'  fur  dey 
mammy — no  mo'  'n  what  color  Gord  give  'em 
in  dey  skins — I  gwine  put  'em  in  special  secon' 
mo'nin',  'cordin'  to  de  time  dey  ought  ter  been 
13 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

wearin'  it ;  an'  when  we  walks  up  de  island  o'  de 
church,  dey  got  ter  foller,  two  by  two,  keepin' 
time  ter  de  fun'al  march.  You  come  ter  de  wed- 
din',  Mis'  Gladys,  an'  I  lay  you'll  'low  dat  I  done 
fixed  it  so  dat,  while  I'm  a-lookin'out  fur  de  livin', 
de  dead  ain't  gwine  feel  slighted,  right  nur  left." 

She  was  starting  away  again,  and  once  more, 
while  I  wished  her  joy,  I  bade  her  be  careful  to 
make  no  mistake.  A  note  of  sympathy  in  my 
voice  must  have  touched  the  woman,  for  she 
turned,  and  coming  quite  up  to  me,  laid  her 
hand  upon  my  lap. 

"  Missy,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  believe  I  gwine 
make  no  mistake.  You  know  I  allus  did  love 
chillen,  an'  I  ain't  naver  is  had  none  o'  my  own, 
an'  dis  heah  seemed  like  my  chance.  An'  I  been 
surveyin'  de  lan'scape  o'er  tryin'  ter  think  about 
eve'ything  I  can  do  ter  start  right.  I'm  a-start- 
in'  wid  dem  chillen,  puttin'  'em  in  mo'nin'  fur 
Ca'line.  Den,  fur  Pete,  I  gwine  ring  de  changes 
on  Ca'line's  goodness  tell  he  ax  me,  for  Gord 
sake,  ter  stop,  so,  in  years  ter  come,  he  won't 
have  nothin'  ter  th'ow  up  ter  me.  An' you  know 
de  reason  I  done  tooken  fo'  days  off,  missy  ?  I 
gwine  on  a  weddin'-trip  down  ter  Pine  Bluff,  an' 
I  wants  time  ter  pick  out  a  few  little  weddin'- 
presents  to  fetch  home  ter  Pete." 
14 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Pete  I"  I  cried.  "  Pete  is  going  with  yon,  of 
rse  ?" 

"  Pete  gwine  wid  me  ?  Who  sesso  ?  No, 
ma'am  !  Why,  missy,  how  would  it  look  fur  me 
ter  go  a-skylarkin'  roun'  de  country  wid  Pete — 
an'  me  in  mo'nin'  9 

"  No,  indeedy !  I  gwine  leave  Pete  home  ter 
take  keer  dem  chillen,  an'  I  done  set  him  a  good 
job  o'  whitewashin'  to  do  while  I'm  gone,  too. 
De  principles'  weddin'- present  I  gwine  fetch 
Pete  is  a  fiddle.  Po'  Pete  been  wantin'  a  good 
fiddle  all  his  life,  an'  he  'ain't  nuver  is  had  one. 
But,  of  co'se,  I  don't  'low  ter  let  him  play  on 
it  tell  de  full  year  of  mo'nin'  is  out." 


AN    OPTICAL   DILEMMA 


AX    OPTICAL  DILEMMA 


ELDER  BRADLEY  had  lost  his  spectacles, 
and  he  was  in  despair.      He  was  nearly 
blind  without  them,  and  there  was  no  one 
at  home  to  hunt  them  for  him.     His  wife  had 
gone  out  visiting  for  the  afternoon  ;  and  he  had 
just  seen  Dinah,  the  cook,  stride  gleefully  out 
the  front  gate  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  arrayed 
in  all  her  "  society  uniform,"  on  her  way  to  a 
church  funeral.     She  would  not  be  home  until 
dark. 

It  was  growing  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
elder  had  to  make  out  his  report  to  be  read  at 
the  meeting  of  the  session  this  evening.  It  had 
to  be  done. 

He  could  not,  from  where  he  sat,  distinguish 

the  pink  lion's  head  from  the  purple  rose-buds 

on  the  handsome  new  American  Brussels  rug 

that  his  wife  had  bought  him  as  a  Christmas  gift 

19 


MORIAH'S     MOURNING 

— to  lay  under  her  sewing-machine — although  he 
could  put  out  his  boot  and  touch  it.  How  could 
he  expect  to  find  anything  so  small  as  a  pair  of 
spectacles  ? 

The  elder  was  a  very  old  man,  and  for  years 
his  focal  point  had  been  moving  off  gradually, 
until  now  his  chief  pleasures  of  sight  were  to  be 
found  out-of-doors,  where  the  distant  views  came 
gratefully  to  meet  him. 

He  could  more  easily  distinguish  the  dark 
glass  insulators  from  the  little  sparrows  that 
sometimes  came  to  visit  them  upon  the  tele 
graph  pole  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  than  he 
could  discriminate  between  the  beans  and  the 
pie  that  sometimes  lay  together  on  his  dinner 
plate. 

Indeed,  when  his  glasses  stayed  lost  over  meal 
times,  as  they  had  occasionally  done,  he  had, 
after  vainly  struggling  to  locate  the  various 
viands  upon  his  plate  and  suffering  repeated  pal 
atal  disappointments,  generally  ended  by  stir 
ring  them  all  together,  with  the  declaration  that 
he  would  at  least  get  one  certain  taste,  and  abide 
by  it. 

This  would  seem  to  show  him  to  have  been  an 
essentially  amiable  man,  even  though  he  was 
occasionally  mastered  by  such  outbursts  of  im- 
20 


AN    OPTICAL    DILEMMA 

patience  as  this ;  for,  be  it  said  to  his  credit,  he 
always  left  a  clean  plate. 

The  truth  is,  Elder  Bradley  was  an  earnest, 
good  man,  and  he  had  tried  all  his  life,  in  a 
modest,  undeclared  way,  to  be  a  Christian  phi 
losopher.  And  he  would  try  it  now.  He  had 
been,  for  an  hour  after  his  mishap,  walking  more 
rapidly  than  was  his  habit  up  and  down  the  en 
tire  length  of  the  hall  that  divided  the  house 
into  two  distinct  sides,  and  his  head  had  hung 
low  upon  his  bosom.  He  had  been  pondering. 
Or  perhaps  he  had  been  praying.  His  dilemma 
was  by  no  means  a  thing  to  be  taken  lightly. 

Suddenly  realizing,  however,  that  he  had 
squandered  the  greater  part  of  a  valuable  after 
noon  in  useless  repining,  he  now  lifted  his  head 
and  glanced  about  him. 

"  Fm  a-goin'  to  find  them  blame  spec's — eyes 
or  no  eyes  I"  He  spoke  with  a  steady  voice  that 
had  in  it  the  ring  of  the  invincible  spirit  that 
dares  failure.  And  now,  having  resolved  and 
spoken,  he  turned  and  entered  the  dining-room — 
and  sat  down.  It  was  here  that  he  remembered 
having  last  used  the  glasses.  He  would  sit  here 
and  think. 

It  was  a  rather  small  room,  which  would  have 
been  an  advantage  in  ordinary  circumstances. 
21 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

But  to  the  elder  its  dimensions  were  an  insur 
mountable  difficulty.  How  can  one  compass  a 
forty-rod  focus  within  the  limits  of  a  twelve  by 
sixteen  foot  room  ? 

But  if  his  eyes  could  not  help  him,  his  hands 
must.  He  had  taken  as  few  steps  as  possible  in 
going  about  the  room,  lest  he  should  tread  upon 
the  glasses  unawares  ;  and  now,  stepping  ginger 
ly,  and  sometimes  merely  pushing  his  feet  along, 
he  approached  his  writing-table  and  sat  down  be 
fore  it.  Then  he  began  to  feel.  It  was  a  tedious 
experiment  and  a  hazardous  one,  and  after  a  few 
moments  of  nervous  and  fruitless  groping,  he 
sought  relief  in  expression. 

"  That's  right !  turn  over  !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  s'pose  you're  the  red  ink  !  Now  if  I  could 
jest  capsize  the  mucilage-bottle  an'  my  bag  o' 
snuff,  an'  stir  in  that  Seidlitz-powder  I  laid  out 
here  to  take,  it  would  be  purty  cheerful  for  them 
fiddle-de-dees  an'  furbelows  thet's  layin'  every 
where.  I  hope  they'll  ketch  it  ef  anything  does  ! 
They's  nothin'  I  feel  so  much  like  doin'  ez  takin' 
a  spoon  to  the  whole  business  !" 

The  elder  was  a  popular  father,  grandfather, 
uncle,  husband,  and  Bible-class  teacher  to  a  band 
of  devoted  women  of  needle -work  and  hand- 
painting  proclivities,  and  his  writing-table  was 


AN    OPTICAL    DILEMMA 

a  favorite  target  for  their  patiently  wrought  love- 
missiles. 

One  of  the  strongest  evidences  of  the  old  man's 
kindliness  of  nature  was  that  it  was  only  when 
he  was  wrought  up  to  the  point  of  desperation, 
as  now,  that  he  spoke  his  mind  about  the  gew 
gaws  which  his  soul  despised. 

There  are  very  few  good  old  elders  in  the 
Presbyterian  Church  who  care  to  have  pink 
bows  tied  on  their  penholders,  or  to  be  reminded 
at  every  turn  that  they  are  hand-painted  and 
daisy-decked  "  Dear  Grandfathers."  It  is  rather 
inconvenient  to  have  to  dodge  a  daisy  or  a  motto 
every  time  one  wants  to  dry  a  letter  on  his  blot 
ting-pad,  and  the  hand-painted  paper-cutter  was 
never  meant  to  cut  anything. 

"Yes/7  the  good  old  man  repeated,  " ef  I 
knowed  I  could  stir  in  every  blame  thing  thet's 
got  a  ribbon  bow  or  a  bo'quet  on  it,  I'd  take  a 
spoon  to  this  table  now — an'  stir  the  whole  busi 
ness  up — an7  start  fresh  \" 

Still,  as  his  hand  tipped  a  bottle  presently,  he 
caught  it  and  set  it  cautiously  back  in  its  place. 

He  had  begun  now  to  systematically  feel  over 

the  table,  proceeding  regularly  with  both  hands 

irom  left  to  right  and  back  again,  until  on  a  last 

return  trip  he  discerned  the  edge  of  the  mahog- 

23 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

any  next  his  body.     And  then  he  said — and  he 
said  it  with  spirit : 

"Dod  blast  it !     They  ain't  here — nowheres  !" 

He  sat  still  now  for  a  moment  in  thought. 
And  then  he  began  to  remember  that  he  had  sat 
talking  to  his  wife  at  the  sewing-machine  just 
before  she  left  the  house.  He  rose  and  exam 
ined  the  table  of  the  machine  and  the  floor  be 
neath  it.  Then  he  tried  the  sideboard  and  the 
window-sill,  where  he  had  read  his  morning 
chapter  from  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Romans, 
chapter  viii. 

He  even  shook  out  the  leaves  of  his  Testament 
upon  the  floor  between  his  knees  and  felt  for 
them  there.  There  had  been  a  Biblical  surren 
der  of  this  sort  more  than  once  in  the  past,  and 
he  never  failed  to  go  to  the  Good  Book  for  re 
lief,  even  when,  as  now,  he  distinctly  remember 
ed  having  worn  the  glasses  after  his  daily  reading. 

Failing  to  find  them  here,  he  suddenly  ran  his 
hand  over  his  forehead  with  an  eager  movement. 
Many  a  time  these  very  spectacles  had  come  back 
to  him  there,  and,  strange  to  say,  it  was  always 
one  of  the  last  places  he  remembered  to  examine. 
But  they  were  not  there  now. 

He  chuckled,  even  in  his  despair,  as  he  dropped 
his  hand. 

24 


AN    OPTICAL    DILEMMA 

"I'll  look  there  ag'in  after  a  while.  Maybe 
when  he's  afeerd  Fll  clair  lose  my  soul,  he'll 
fetch  'em  back  to  me  I" 

The  old  man  had  often  playfully  asserted  that 
his  "guardeen  angel"  found  his  lost  glasses,  and 
laid  them  back  on  his  head  for  him  when  he  saw 
him  tried  beyond  his  strength.  And  maybe  he 
was  right.  Who  can  tell  ?  That  there  is  some 
sort  of  so-called  "  supernatural "  intervention  in 
such  matters  there  seems  to  be  little  doubt. 

There  is  a  race — of  brownies,  probably,  or  may 
be  they  are  imps — whose  business  in  life  seems 
to  be  to  catch  up  any  needed  trifle — a  suddenly 
dropped  needle,  the  very  leaf  in  the  morning 
paper  that  the  reader  held  a  moment  ago  and 
that  holds  "continuations,"  the  scissors  just 
now  at  his  elbow,  his  collar  button — and  to  hide 
it  until  the  loser  swears  his  ultimate,  most  des 
perate  swear ! 

When  the  profanity  is  satisfactory,  the  little 
fellows  usually  fetch  back  the  missing  article, 
lay  it  noiselessly  under  the  swearer's  nose,  and 
vanish. 

At  other  times,  when  the  victim  persistently 

declines   profanity,  they  have   been  known  to 

amiably  restore  the  articles  after  a  reasonable 

time,  and  to  lay  them  so  absurdly  in  evidence 

25 


MORIAirS    MOURNING 

that  the  hitherto  forbearing  man  breaks  his 
record  in  a  volley  of  imprecations. 

When  this  happens,  if  one  has  presence  of 
mind  to  listen,  he  can  distinctly  hear  a  fine 
metallic  titter  along  the  tops  of  the  furniture 
and  a  hasty  scamper,  as  of  tiny  scurrying  feet. 

This  may  sound  jocund,  but  the  writer  testifies 
that  it  is  true. 

Of  course  when  the  victim  is  a  lady  the  pixies 
do  not  require  of  them  men's  oaths.  But  they 
will  have  only  her  best. 

When  the  elder  had  tried  in  vain  all  the 
probable  places  where  the  glasses  might  be  hid 
den,  he  began  to  realize  that  there  was  only  one 
thing  left  for  him  to  do.  He  must  feel  all  over 
the  floor. 

He  was  a  fat  old  man  and  short  of  neck. 

For  five  years  he  had  realized  a  feeling  of 
thankfulness  that  the  Presbyterian  form  of  wor 
ship  permitted  standing  in  prayer.  It  hurt  him 
to  kneel.  But  nothing  could  hurt  him  so  much 
as  to  fail  to  hand  in  his  report  to-night.  In 
deed,  the  missionary  collection  would  be  affected 
by  it.  It  must  be  written. 

He  found  a  corner  in  the  room  and  got  down 
on  his  marrow-bones,  throwing  his  hands  forward 
and  bringing  them  back  in  far-reaching  curves, 
26 


AN    OPTICAL    DILEMMA 

as  one  swimming.  This  was  hard  work,  and  be 
fore  many  minutes  great  drops  of  perspiration 
were  falling  upon  the  carpet  and  the  old  man's 
breath  came  in  quick  gasps. 

"  Ef  I  jest  had  the  blame  things  for  a  minute 
to  slip  on  my  eyes,  why,  /  could  find  'em — easy 
enough!"  he  ejaculated — desperation  in  his  voice. 

And  then  he  proceeded  to  say  a  number  of 
things  that  were  lacking  in  moderation,  and 
consequently  very  sinful  —  in  an  elder  of  the 
church. 

The  "bad  words"  spoken  in  the  vacant  house 
fell  accusingly  upon  the  speaker's  ears,  and  they 
must  have  startled  him,  for  he  hastened  to  add  : 
"I  don't  see  where  no  sense  o'  jestice  comes  in, 
nohow,  in  allowin'  a  man  on  the  very  eve  of 
doin'  his  Christian  duty  to  lose  his  most  im 
portant  wherewithal  \" 

This  plea  was  no  doubt  in  mild  extenuation 
of  the  explosive  that  had  preceded  it,  and  as 
he  turned  and  drew  himself  forward  by  his 
elbows  to  compass  a  new  section  of  the  room, 
which,  by-the-way,  seemed  suddenly  expanded 
in  size,  he  began  to  realize  that  the  plea  was  in 
itself  most  sinful — even  more  so  than  the  out 
burst,  perhaps,  being  an  implication  of  divine 
injustice. 

27 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

A  lump  came  into  his  throat,  and  as  he  pro 
ceeded  laboriously  along  on  his  dry  swim,  he 
felt  for  a  moment  in  danger  of  crying. 

Of  course  this  would  never  do,  but  there  was 
just  so  much  emotion  within  him,  and  it  had 
begun  to  ferment. 

Before  he  realized  his  excitement  his  arms 
were  flying  about  wildly  and  he  was  shrieking 
in  a  frenzy. 

"  But  /  must  have  'em  !  I  must  have  'em  !  I 
must,  I  say;  0  Lord,  I  must  —  I  MUST  HAVE 
THEM  SPECTACLES  !  Lor-r-d,  I  have  work  to 
do — FOR  THEE — an'  I  am  eager  to  perform  it. 
All  I  ask  is  FIVE  MINUTES'  USE  o'  MY  EYES,  so 
thet  I  may  pursue  this  search  in  patience — " 

His  voice  broke  in  a  sob. 

And  just  now  it  was  that  his  left  hand,  fum 
bling  over  the  foot  of  the  sewing-machine  treadle, 
ran  against  a  familiar  bit  of  steel  wire. 

If  it  had  connected  with  an  ordinary  electric 
battery,  the  resulting  shock  could  scarcely  have 
been  more  pronounced. 

There  was  something  really  pathetic  in  the 
spasmodic  grasp  with  which  he  seized  the  glasses, 
and  as  he  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  and  lifted  them 
to  his  eyes,  his  hand  shook  pitifully. 

"Thank  the  Lord  !  Now  I  can  see  to  look  for 
28 


AN    OPTICAL    DILEMMA 

'em  !"  And  as  he  tremblingly  brought  the  curved 
ends  of  the  wire  around  his  ears  he  exclaimed 
with  fervor,  "Yas,  Lord,  with  Thy  help  I  will 
keep  my  vow  —  an'  pursue  this  search  in  pa 
tience."  His  wet,  red  face  beamed  with  pleasure 
over  the  recovery  of  his  near  vision.  So  happy 
was  he,  indeed,  in  the  new  possession,  that,  in 
stead  of  rising,  he  sat  still  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  running  his  eyes  with  rapid  scrutiny 
over  the  carpet  near  him.  He  sat  here  a  long 
time — even  forgetting  his  discomfort,  while  he 
turned  as  on  a  pivot  as  the  search  required. 
Though  the  missing  articles  did  not  promptly 
appear  at  his  side,  Bradley  felt  that  he  was  hav 
ing  a  good  time,  and  so  he  was,  comparatively. 
Of  course  he  would  find  the  glasses  presently. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  What  a  joy  to  see  its 
face !  He  would  still  have  time  to  do  the  report, 
if  he  hurried  a  little.  He  began  to  rise  by  pain 
ful  stages. 

"  Lemme  see  !  The  last  thing  I  done  was  to 
open  the  sideboard  an'  cut  a  piece  o'  pie  an'  eat 
it.  I  must  o'  had  my  glasses  on  then.  I  ricol- 
lec'  it  was  sweet-potato  pie,  an'  it  was  scorched 
on  one  side.  Lordy  !  but  what  a  pleasure  it  is 
to  look  for  a  thing  when  a  person  can  look  !" 
He  crossed  over  to  the  sideboard. 
29 


MORI  AH' S    MOURNING 

"Yas" —  he  had  opened  the  door  and  was 
cutting  another  piece  of  pie.  "Yas.  Sweet- 
potato  pie,  an'  burnt  on  one  side — the  side  thet's 
left.  Yas,  an'  I'll  leave  it  ag'in  !"  He  chuckled 
as  he  took  a  deep  bite. 

"  Of  co'se  I  must  V  had  'em  on  when  I  cut  the 
pie,  or  I  couldn't  've  saw  it  so  distinc' — 'an  I 
finished  that  slice  a-settin'  down  talkin'  to  her  at 
the  sewin'-machine.  Ricollec'  I  told  her  how 
mother  used  to  put  cinnamon  in  hers.  I'll  go 
set  there  ag'in,  an'  maybe  by  lookin'  'round — 
They  might  'a'  dropped  in  her  darnin'-basket." 

It  was  while  he  sat  here,  running  one  hand 
through  the  basket  and  holding  the  slice  of  pie 
in  the  other,  that  he  heard  a  step,  and,  looking 
up,  he  saw  his  wife  standing  in  the  door. 

"  Why,  Ephraim  !  What  on  earth  !"  she  ex 
claimed.  "1  lef  you  there  eatin'  that  pie  fo' 
hours  ago,  an'  I  come  back  an'  find  you  settin' 
there  yet !  You  cert'n'y  'ain't  forgot  to  make 
out  yo'  report  ?" 

"  Forgot  nothin',  Maria."  He  swallowed  la 
boriously  as  he  spoke.  "  I  'ain't  done  a  thing 
sence  you  been  gone  but  look  for  my  glasses — 
not  a  blame  thing.  An'  I'm  a-lookin'  for  'em  yet." 

Mrs.  Bradley  was  frightened.  She  walked 
straight  up  to  her  husband  and  took  his  hand. 
30 


AN    OPTICAL    DILEMMA 

"Ephraim,"  she  said,  gently,  and  as  she  spoke 
she  drew  the  remainder  of  the  pie  from  his 
yielding  fingers — "Ephraim,  I  wouldn't  eat  any 
mo'  o'  that  heavy  pie  ef  I  was  you.  You  ain't 
well.  Ef  you  can't  make  no  mo'  headway  'n  that 
on  yo'  favonYe  pie  in  fo'  hours,  you're  shorely 
goin'  to  be  took  sick."  She  took  her  handker 
chief  and  wiped  his  forehead.  And  then  she 
added,  with  a  sweet,  wifely  tenderness:  "To 
prove  to  you  thet  you  ain't  well,  honey,  yo' 
glasses  are  on  yo'  nose  right  now.  You  bet 
ter  go  lay  down." 

Bradley  looked  straight  into  her  face  for  some 
moments,  but  he  did  not  even  blink.  Then  he 
said,  in  an  awe-stricken  voice:  "Ef  what  you 
say  is  true,  Maria — an'  from  the  clairness  with 
which  I  see  the  serious  expression  of  yo'  coun 
tenance  I  reckon  it  must  be  so — ef  it  is  so — " 
He  paused  here,  and  a  new  light  came  into  his 
eyes,  and  then  they  filled  with  tears.  ' '  Why, 
Maria  honey,  of  co'se  it's  so!  I  know  when  I 
found  'em  !  But  I  was  so  full  o'  the  thought 
thet  ef  I  jest  had  my  sight  I  could  look  for  'em 
thet  I  slipped  'em  on  my  nose  an'  continued  the 
search.  Feel  my  pulse,  honey ;  I've  no  doubt 
you're  right.  I'm  a-goin'  to  have  a  spell  o'  sick- 


31 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  Yes,  dearie,  Fm  Peered  yon  are." 

The  good  woman  drew  him  over  to  the  lounge 
and  carefully  adjusted  a  pillow  to  his  head. 
"  Now  take  a  little  nap,  an'  I'll  send  word  over 
to  Elder  Jones's  thet  you  ain't  feelin'  well  an' 
can't  come  to  prayer  -  meetin'  to-night.  What 
you  need  is  rest,  an'  a  change  o'  subject.  I  jest 
been  over  to  May  Bennett's,  an'  she's  give  out 
thet  she  an'  Pete  Sanders  has  broke  off  their 
engagement — an'  Joe  Legget,  why  his  leg's  am 
putated  clean  off — an'  Susan  Tucker's  baby  had 
seven  spasms  an' — " 

"  That  so  ?  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  wife.  But  ef 
you  send  word  over  to  him  thet  I  ain't  well,  don't 
send  tell  the  last  minute,  please.  Ef  yon  was  to, 
he'd  come  by  here,  shore — an'  they'd  be  questions 
ast,  an'  I  couldn't  stand  it.  Jest  send  word  when 
the  second  bell  starts  a-ringin'  thet  I  ain't  well. 
An9 1  ain't,  Maria." 

"  I'm  convinced  o'  that,  Ephraim — or  I  wouldn't 
send  the  message — an'  you  know  it.  We  ain't  so 
hard  pressed  for  excuses  thet  we're  goin'  to  lie 
about  it.  I  knowed  you  wasn't  well  ez  soon  ez  I 
see  that  piece  o'  pie." 

Bradley  coughed  a  little.  "Appearances  is 
sometimes  deceitful,  Maria.  I  hadn't  wrastled 
with  that  pie  ez  unsuccessful  ez  I  seemed.  That 


AN    OPTICAL    DILEMMA 

was  the  second  slice  I'd  et  sence  yon  left.  No, 
the  truth  is,  I  lost  my  glasses,  an'  I  got  erritated 
an5  flew  into  a  temper  an'  said  things.  An'  the 
Lord,  He  punished  me.  He  took  my  reason 
away.  He  gimme  the  glasses  an'  denied  me  the 
knowledge  of  'em.  But  I'm  thankful  to  Him  for 
lettin'  me  have  'em — anyhow.  Ef  I  was  fo'or- 
dained  to  search  for  'em,  it  was  mighty  merciful 
in  Him  to  loan  'em  to  me  to  do  it  with." 


THE    SECOND    MES.  SLIMM 


THE    SECOND    MRS.  SLIMM 


EZKA  SLIMM  was  a  widower  of   nearly  a 
year,   and,  as  a   consequence,   was    in  a 
state  of  mind  not  nnnsual  in  like  circum 
stances. 

True,  the  said  state  of  mind  had  not  in  his 
case  manifested  itself  in  the  toilet  bloomings, 
friskiness  of  demeanor,  and  protestations  of 
youth  renewed  which  had  characterized  the  first 
signs  of  the  same  in  the  usual  run  of  Simpkins- 
ville  widowers  up  to  date.  If  he  had  for  sev 
eral  months  been  mentally  casting  about  for 
another  wife,  he  had  betrayed  it  by  no  outward 
and  visible  sign.  The  fact  is  Ezra's  case  was 
somewhat  exceptional,  as  we  shall  presently 
see. 

Although  he  was  quite  diminutive  in  size, 
there  was  in  his  bearing,  as  with  hands  clasped 
behind  him  he  paced  up  and  down  before  his 
37 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

lonely  fireside,  a  distinct  dignity  that  was  not 
only  essentially  manly — it  was  gentlemanly. 

The  refinement  of  feeling  underlying  this  no 
doubt  aggravated  the  dilemma  in  which  he  found 
himself,  and  which  we  cannot  sooner  comprehend 
than  hy  attending  to  his  soliloquy  as  he  reviewed 
his  trials  in  the  following  somewhat  rambling 
fashion  : 

"No,  'twouldn't  never  do  in  the  world — never, 
never.  'Twouldn't  never  do  to  marry  any  o'  these 
girls  round  here  thet  knows  all  my  tips  an'  downs 
with — -with  pore  Jinny.  'T wouldn't  never  do. 
Any  girl  thet  knew  thet  her  husband  had  been 
chastised  by  his  first  wife  the  way  Fve  been 
would  think  thet  ef  she  got  fretted  she  was  let- 
tin'  'im  off  easy  on  a  tongue-lashin'.  An'  I  s'pose 
they  is  times  when  any  woman  gits  sort  o'  wrought 
up,  livin'  day  in  an'  day  out  with  a  man.  No, 
^wouldn't  never  do,"  he  repeated,  as,  thrusting 
both  hands  in  his  pockets,  he  stopped  before  the 
fire,  and  steadying  the  top  of  his  head  against 
the  mantel,  studied  the  logs  for  a  moment. 

"  An'  so  the  day  pore  Jinny  took  it  upon  her 
self  to  lay  me  acrost  her  lap  an'  punish  me  in 
the  presence  of  sech  ill-mannered  persons  ez  has 
seen  fit  to  make  a  joke  of  it — though  I  don't  see 
where  the  fun  comes  in— well,  that  day  she  set- 


THE    SECOND    MRS.   SLIMM 

tied  the  hash  for  number  two  so  fur  ez  this  town 
goes. 

( '  No,  'twouldn't  never  do  in  the  world  !  Even 
ef  she  never  throwed  it  up  to  me,  Fd  be  sus 
picious.  She  couldn't  even  to  say  clap  her  hands 
together  to  kill  a  mosquito  lessen  I'd  think  she 
was  insinuating  An'  jest  ez  quick  ez  any  man 
suspicions  thet  his  wife  is  a-naggin'  him  inten 
tional,  it's  good-by  happiness. 

"  Ef  'twasn't  for  that,  of  co'se  they's  more'n 
one  young  woman  roun'  this  county  thet  any 
man  might  go  further  an'  do  worse  than  git. 

"  Not  thet  I  hold  it  agin  Jinny,  now  she's  gone, 
but— » 

He  had  resumed  his  promenade,  extending  it 
through  a  second  room  as  he  proceeded  : 

" — but  it  does  seem  strange  how  a  woman 
gifted  in  prayer  ez  she  was,  an'  with  all  her  in 
stinct  religious  the  way  hers  was,  should  o'  been 
allowed  to  take  sech  satisfaction  in  naggin'  the 
very  one  she  agonized  most  over  in  prayer,  which 
I  know  she  done  over  me,  for  I've  heerd  'er.  An' 
ef  she  had  o'  once-t  mentioned  me  to  the  Lord 
confidential  ez  a  person  fitten  to  commingle  with 
the  cherubim  an'  seraphim,  'stid  of  a  pore  lost 
sinner  not  fitten  to  bresh  up  their  wing-feathers 
for  'em,  I  b'lieve  I  might  o'  give  in.  I  don't 
39 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

wonder  I  'ain't  never  had  a  call  to  enter  the 
Kingdom  on  her  ricommendation.  'Twouldn't 
o'  been  fair  to  the  innocent  angels  thet  would  V 
been  called  on  to  associate  with  me.  That's  the 
way  I  look  at  it. 

"  An'  yit  Jinny  'lowed  herself  thet  my  out'ard 
ac's  was  good,  but  bein'  ez  they  didn't  spring 
from  a  converted  heart,  they  was  jest  nachel 
hypocercy,  an'  thet  ef  I'd  o'  lied  an'  stole,  or  even 
answered  her  back,  she'd  o'  had  more  hope  for 
me,  because,  sez  she,  a  '  consistent  sinner  is  ap' 
to  make  a  consistent  Christian.' 

"She  even  tol'  me  one  day  —  pore  Jinny  !  I 
can  see  her  face  light  up  now  when  she  said  it — 
sez  she,  'I'm  ac- chilly  most  afeerd  to  see  you 
converted,  less'n  you'll  break  out  in  some  devil 
ment  you  hadn't  never  thought  about  before — 
you're  that  inconsistent.' 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  mean  to  think  I  don't  miss 
'er  more'n  what  I  do  —  an'  she  so  lively,  too. 
Tell  the  truth,  I  miss  them  little  devils  she  used 
to  print  on  the  butter  pads  she  set  at  my  plate 
ez  a  warnin'to  me — seem  to  me  I  miss  them  jest 
about  ez  much  ez  I  miss  her. 

"The  nearest  I  ever  did  come  to  answerin' 
her  back — 'cept,  of  co'se,  the  time  she  chastised 
me — was  the  way  I  used  regular  to  heat  my 
40 


I'M  AC-CHILLY  MOST   AFEETID  TO   SEE   YOU   CONVERTED 


THE    SECOND    MRS.    SLIMM 

knife-blade  good  an'  hot  'twix'  two  batter-cakes 
an'  flatten  that  devil  out  ofelib'rate.  But  he'd 
be  back  nex'  day,  pitchfork  an'  all. 

"  But  with  it  all  Jinny  loved  me — in  her  own 
way,  of  co'se.  Doubt  if  I'll  ever  git  another  to 
love  me  ez  well ;  'n'  don't  know  ez  I  crave  it, 
less'n  she  was  different  dispositioned. 

"  I've  done  paid  her  all  the  respec's  I  know — 
put  up  a  fine  Bible -texted  tombstone  for  her, 
an'  had  her  daguerre'type  enlarged  to  a  po'tr'it. 
I  don't  know's  I'm  obligated  to  do  any  more, 
'cep'n,  of  co'se,  to  wait  till  the  year's  out,  which, 
not  havin'  no  young  children  in  need  of  a  mother, 
I  couldn't  hardly  do  less  than  do." 

It  was  about  a  week  after  this  that  Ezra  sat 
beside  his  fire  reading  his  paper,  when  his  eye 
happened  to  fall  upon  the  following  paragraph 
among  the  te  personals  "  : 

"The  Claybank  Academy  continues  to  thrive 
under  the  able  management  of  Miss  Myrtle  Mus- 
grove.  That  accomplished  and  popular  young 
lady  has  abolished  the  use  of  the  rod,  and  by 
substituting  the  law  of  kindness  she  has  built 
up  the  most  flourishing  academy  in  the  State." 

Ezra  read  the  notice  three  times.     Then  he 
41 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

laid  the  paper  down,  and  clapping  his  hand 
upon  it,  exclaimed  :  "  Well,  I'll  be  doggoned 
ef  that  ain't  the  woman  for  me  !  Any  girl  thet 
could  teach  a  county  school  an'  abolish  whuppin' 
— not  only  a  chance  to  do  it,  but  a  crowd  o' 
young  rascals  needin'  it  all  around  'er,  an'  her 
not  doin'  it!  An'  yit  some  other  persons  has 
been  known  to  strain  a  p'int  to  whup  a  person 
they 'ain't  rightly  got  no  business  to  whup."  He 
read  the  notice  again.  "  Purty  name  that,  too, 
Myrtle  Musgrove.  Sounds  like  a  girl  to  go  out 
walkin'  with  under  the  myrtle-trees  in  the  grove 
moonlight  nights,  Myrtle  Musgrove  does. 

"  I  declare,  I  ain't  to  say  religious,  but  I  b'lieve 
that  notice  was  sent  to  me  providential. 

"  Of  co'se,  maybe  she  wouldn't  look  at  me  ef  I 
ast  her;  but  one  thing  shore,  she  can't  if  I 
don't. 

"  Claybank  is  a  good  hund'ed  miles  from  here 
V  I  couldn't  leave  the  farm  now,  noways ;  be 
sides,  the  day  I  start  a-makin'  trips  from  home, 
talk  '11  start,  an'  I'll  be  watched  close-ter  'n  what 
I'm  watched  now  —  ef  that's  possible.  But  th' 
ain't  nothin'  to  hender  me  writin'  —  ez  I  can 
see." 

This  idea,  once  in  his  mind,  lent  a  new  im 
pulse  to  Ezra's  life,  a  fresh  spring  to  his  gait,  BO 
4? 


THE    SECOND    MRS.    SLIMM 

evident  to  solicitous  eyes  that  during  the  next 
week  even  his  dog  noticed  it  and  had  a  way  of 
running  up  and  sniffing  about  him,,  as  if  asking 
what  had  happened. 

An  era  of  hope  had  dawned  for  the  hitherto 
downcast  man  simply  because  Miss  Myrtle  Mus- 
grove,  a  woman  he  had  never  seen,  had  abolished 
whipping  in  a  distant  school. 

Two  weeks  passed  before  Ezra  saw  his  way 
clearly  to  write  the  proposed  letter,  but  he  did, 
nevertheless,  in  the  interval,  walk  up  and  down 
his  butter-bean  arbor  on  moonlight  nights,  im 
agining  Miss  Myrtle  beside  him — Miss  Myrtle, 
named  for  his  favorite  flower.  He  had  preferred 
the  violet,  but  he  had  changed  his  mind.  Rose- 
colored  crepe-myrtles  were  blooming  in  his  gar 
den  at  the  time.  Maybe  this  was  why  he  began 
to  think  of  her  as  a  pink-faced  laughing  girl, 
typified  by  the  blushing  flower.  Everything  was 
so  absolutely  real  in  her  setting  that  the  ideal 
girl  walked,  a  definite  embodiment  of  his  fancy, 
night  after  night  by  his  side,  and  whether  it  was 
from,  his  life  habit  or  an  intuitive  fancy,  he 
looked  upward  into  her  face.  He  had  always 
liked  tall  women. 

And  all  this  time  he  was  trying  to  frame  a 
suitable  letter  to  the  real  "popular  and  ac- 
43 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

complished  Miss  Musgrove,"  of  Claybank  Acad 
emy. 

Finally,  however,  the  ambitions  and  flowery 
document  was  finished. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  him  whose  postscript 
read,  "  For  Your  Eyes  alone,"  to  quote  in  full, 
for  the  vulgar  gratification  of  prying  eyes,  the 
pathetic  missive  that  told  again  the  old  story  of 
a  lonely  home,  the  needed  woman.  But  when  it 
was  sent,  Ezra  found  the  circuit  of  the  butter- 
bean  arbor  too  circumscribed  a  promenade,  and 
began  taking  the  imaginary  Miss  Myrtle  with 
him  down  through  his  orchard  and  potato- 
patch. 

It  was  during  these  moonlight  communings 
that  he  seemed  to  discover  that  she  listened 
while  he  talked  —  a  new  experience  to  Ezra — 
and  that  even  when  he  expressed  his  awful 
doubts  as  to  the  existence  of  a  personal  devil 
she  only  smiled,  and  thought  he  might  be  right. 

Oh,  the  joy  of  such  companionship  !  But,  oh, 
the  slowness  of  the  mails  ! 

A  month  passed,  and  Ezra  was  beginning  to 
give  up  all  hope  of  ever  having  an  answer  to  his 
letter,  when  one  day  it  came,  a  dainty  envelope 
with  the  Claybank  postmark. 

Miss  Musgrove  thanked  him  for  his  letter. 
44 


THE    SECOND    MRS.   SLIMM 

She  would  see  him.  It  would  not  be  convenient 
now,  but  would  he  not  come  down  to  the  acad 
emy's  closing  exercises  in  June — a  month  later  ? 
Until  then  she  was  very  respectfully  his  friend, 
Myrtle  Musgrove. 

The  next  month  was  the  longest  in  Ezra's  life. 
Still,  the  Lord's  calendar  is  faithful,  and  the  sun 
not  a  waiter  upon  the  moods  of  men. 

In  twenty-nine  days  exactly  a  timid  little  man 
stood  with  throbbing  heart  at  the  door  of  Clay- 
bank  Academy,  and  in  a  moment  more  he  had 
slipped  into  a  back  seat  of  the  crowded  room, 
where  a  young  orator  was  ringing  Poe's  "  Bells  " 
through  all  the  varying  cadences  of  Irs  changing 
voice  to  a  rapt  audience  of  relations  and  friends. 
Here  unobserved  Ezra  hoped  to  recover  his  self- 
possession,  remove  the  beads  of  perspiration  one 
by  one  from  his  brow  with  a  corner  of  his  neatly 
folded  handkerchief,  and  perhaps  from  this  van 
tage-ground  even  enjoy  the  delight  of  recogniz 
ing  Miss  Myrtle  without  an  introduction. 

He  had  barely  deposited  his  hat  beneath  his 
chair  when  there  burst  upon  his  delighted  vision 
a  radiant,  dark-eyed,  red-haired  creature  in  pink, 
sitting  head  and  shoulders  above  her  companions 
on  a  bench  set  at  right  angles  with  the  audience 
seats,  in  front  of  the  house.  There  were  a  num- 
45 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

her  of  women  in  the  row,  and  they  were  without 
bonnets.  Evidently  these  were  the  teachers,  and 
of  course  the  pink  goddess  was  Miss  Myrtle  Mus- 
grove. 

Ezra  never  knew  whether  the  programme  was 
long  or  short.  The  bells  had  tintinabulated 
and  musically  welled  into  "  Casabianca  "  which, 
in  turn,  had  merged  into  "  The  Queen  o?  the 
May,"  and  presently  before  he  realized  it  Free 
dom  was  ringing  in  the  closing  notes  of  "Amer 
ica,"  and  everybody  was  standing  up,  pupils  fil 
ing  out,  guests  shaking  hands,  babel  reigning, 
and  he  had  seen  only  a  single,  towering,  hand 
some  woman  in  all  the  assembly. 

Indeed,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  doubt 
his  own  intuition,  until  suddenly  he  heard  his 
own  name  quite  near,  and  turning  quickly,  he  saw 
a  stout  matronly  woman  of  forty  years  or  there 
abouts  standing  beside  him,  extending  her  hand. 

Every  unmarried  woman  is  a  "  yoang  lady"  by 
courtesy  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line. 

"  I  knew  you  as  soon  as  I  saw  you,  Mr. 
Slimm,"  she  was  saying.  "I  am  Miss  Mus- 
grove.  But  you  didn't  know  me,"  she  added, 
archly,  while  Ezra  made  his  bravest  effort  at 
cordiality,  seizing  her  hand  in  an  agony  which 
it  is  better  not  to  attempt  to  describe. 
46 


THE    SECOND    MRS.   SLIMM 

Miss  Musgrove's  face  was  wholesome,  and  so 
kindly  that  not  even  a  cross-eye  had  power  to 
spoil  it.  But  Ezra  saw  only  the  plain  middle- 
aged  woman — the  contrast  to  the  blooming  di 
vinity  whose  image  yet  filled  his  soul.  And  he 
was  committed  to  her  who  held  his  hand,  un 
equivocally  committed  in  writing.  If  he  sent 
heavenward  an  agonized  prayer  for  deliverance 
from  a  trying  crisis,  his  petition  was  soon  an 
swered.  And  the  merciful  instrument  was  even 
she  of  the  cross-eye.  Before  he  had  found  need 
of  a  word  of  his  own,  she  had  drawn  him  aside, 
and  was  saying  : 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Slimm,  the  only  trouble  with 
me  is  that  I  am  already  married." 

"Married  I"  gasped  Ezra,  trying  in  vain  to 
keep  the  joy  out  of  his  voice.  "  Married,  you 
— you  don't  mean — " 

"  Yes,  married  to  my  profession — the  only  hus 
band  I  shall  ever  take.  But  your  letter  attract 
ed  me.  I  am  a  Normal  School  psychology  stu 
dent — a  hard  name  for  a  well-meaning  woman 
— and  it  seemed  to  me  you  were  worth  investi 
gating.  So  I  investigated.  Then  I  knew  you 
ought  to  be  helped.  And  so  I  sent  for  you, 
and  I  am  going  to  introduce  you  to  three  of  the 
sweetest  girls  in  Dixie ;  and  if  you  can't  find  a 
47 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

wife  among  them,  then  yon  are  not  so  clever  as  I 
think  yon — that's  all  abont  it.  And  here  comes 
one  of  them  now.  Kitty,  step  here  a  minnte, 
please.  Miss  Deems,  my  friend,  Mr.  Slimm." 

And  Miss  Myrtle  Mnsgrove  was  off  across  the 
room  before  Ezra's  gasp  had  fully  expanded  into 
the  smile  with  which  he  greeted  Miss  Kitty 
Deems,  a  bnxom  lass  with  freckles  and  dimples 
enough  to  hold  her  own  anywhere. 

Two  other  delightful  young  women  were  pre 
sented  at  intervals  during  the  afternoon  in  about 
the  same  fashion,  and  but  for  a  certain  pink 
Juno  who  flitted  about  ever  in  sight,  Ezra  would 
have  confessed  only  an  embarrassment  of  riches. 

"  And  how  do  you  get  on  with  my  girls  ?"  was 
Miss  Musgrove's  greeting  when,  late  in  the  even 
ing,  she  sought  Ezra  for  a  moment's  tete-d-tdte. 

He  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  hesitated. 

"'Bout  ez  fine  a  set  o'  young  ladies  ez  I  ever 
see,"  he  said,  with  real  enthusiasm  ;  "  but,  tell 
the  truth,  I — but  you've  a'ready  been  so  kind — 
but —  There  she  is  now  !  That  tall,  light-com 
plected  one  in  pink — " 

"Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Slimm.     If  you  say  so, 

I'll  introduce  her.     A  fine,  thorough-going  girl, 

that.     You  know  we  have  abolished  whipping  in 

the  academy,  and  that  girl  thought  one  of  her 

48 


THE    SECOND    MRS.    SLIMM 

boys  needed  it,  and  she  followed  him  home,  and 
gave  it  to  him  there,  and  his  father  interfered, 
and — well,  she  whipped  him  too.  Fine  girl.  Not 
afraid  of  anything  on  earth.  Certainly  I'll  in 
troduce  yon,  if  yon  say  so." 

She  stopped  and  looked  at  Ezra  kindly.  And 
he  saw  that  she  knew  all. 

"Well,  I  ain't  particular.  Some  other  time," 
he  began  to  say ;  then  blushing  scarlet,  he  seized 
her  hand,  and  pressing  it,  said,  fervently,  "  God 
bless  you  I" 

The  second  Mrs.  Slimm  is  a  wholesome  little 
body,  with  dimples  and  freckles,  whom  Ezra  de 
clares  "  God  A'mighty  couldn't  o'  made  without 
thinkin'  of  Ezra  Slimm  an5  his  precize  necessi 
ties." 

No  one  but  himself  and  Miss  Musgrove  ever 
knew  the  whole  story  of  his  wooing,  nor  why, 
when  in  due  season  a  tiny  dimpled  Miss  Slimm 
came  into  the  family  circle,  it  was  by  Ezra's  re 
quest  that  she  was  called  Myrtle. 


APOLLO    BELYEDEEE 

A  CHBISTMAS   EPISODE  OF  THE  PLANTATION 


APOLLO    BELYEDEEE 

A  CHKISTMAS  EPISODE   OF  THE   PLANTATION 


HE  was  a  little  yellow  man  with  a  quizzical 
face  and  sloping  shoulders,  and  when  he 
gave  his  full  name,  with  somewhat  of  a 
flourish,  as  if  it  might  hold  compensations  for 
physical  shortcomings,  one  could  hardly  help 
smiling.  And  yet  there  was  a  pathos  in  the  cari 
cature  that  dissipated  the  smile  half-way.  It 
never  found  voice  in  a  laugh.  The  pathetic 
quality  was  no  doubt  a  certain  serious  ingenuous 
ness — a  confiding  look  that  always  met  your  eye 
from  the  eager  face  of  the  diminutive  wearer  of 
second-hand  coats  and  silk  hats. 

"Yas,  Fm  named  Tollo  Belvedere,  an'  my 
marster  gr'e  me  dat  intitlemint  on  account  o' 
my  shape,"  he  would  say,  with  a  strut,  on  occa 
sion,  if  he  were  bantered,  for  he  had  learned  that 
53 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

the  name  held  personal  suggestions  which  it  took 
a  little  bravado  to  confront.  Evidently  Apollo's 
master  was  a  humorist. 

Apollo  had  always  been  a  house-servant,  and 
had  for  several  years  served  with  satisfaction  as 
coachman  to  his  master's  family ;  but  after  the 
breaking  up,  when  the  place  went  into  other 
hands,  he  failed  to  find  favor  with  the  new-com 
ers,  who  had  an  eye  for  conventional  form,  and 
so  Apollo  was  under  the  necessity  of  accepting 
lower  rank  on  the  place  as  a  field-hand.  But  he 
entered  plantation  circles  with  his  head  up.  He 
had  his  house  rearing,  his  toilets,  and  his  educa 
tion — all  distinguishing  possessions  in  his  small 
world — and  he  was,  in  his  way,  quite  a  gentle 
man.  Apollo  could  read  a  chapter  from  the 
Bible  without  stopping  to  spell.  He  seized  his 
words  with  snap-shots  and  pronounced  them  with 
genius.  Indeed,  when  not  limited  by  the  sug 
gestions  of  print,  as  when  on  occasion  he  re 
sponded  to  an  invitation  to  lead  in  public  prayer, 
he  was  a  builder  of  words  of  so  noble  and  com 
plex  architecture  that  one  hearing  him  was 
pleased  to  remember  that  the  good  Lord,  being 
omniscient,  must  of  course  know  all  tongues,  and 
would  understand. 

That  the  people  of  the  plantation  thought  well 
04 


APOLLO    BELVEDERE 

of  Apollo  will  appear  from  the  fact  that  he  was 
more  than  once  urged  to  enter  the  ministry;  but 
this  he  very  discreetly  declined  to  do,  and  for 
several  reasons.  In  the  first  place  he  didn't  feel 
"  called  to  preach  "  ;  and  in  the  second  place  he 
did  feel  called  or  impelled  to  play  the  fiddle  ;  and 
more  than  that,  he  liked  to  play  dance  music, 
and  to  have  it  "  danced  by." 

As  Apollo  would  have  told  you  himself,  the  fact 
that  he  had  never  married  was  not  because  he 
couldn't  get  anybody  to  have  him,  but  simply  that 
he  hadn't  himself  been  suited.  And,  indeed,  it 
is  because  of  the  romance  of  his  life  that  Apollo 
comes  at  all  into  this  little  sketch  that  bears  his 
name.  Had  he  not  been  so  pathetic  in  his  serious 
and  grotesque  personality,  the  story  would  prob 
ably  have  borne  the  name  of  its  heroine,  Miss 
Lily  Washington,  of  Lone  Oak  Plantation,  and 
would  have  concerned  a  number  of  other  people. 

Lily  was  a  beauty  in  her  own  right,  and  she 
was  belle  of  the  plantation.  She  stood  five  feet 
ten  in  her  bare  feet,  and  although  she  tipped  the 
scales  at  a  hundred  and  sixty,  she  was  as  slim 
and  round  as  a  reed,  and  it  was  well  known  that 
the  grip  of  her  firm  fingers  applied  to  the  closed 
fist  of  any  of  the  young  fellows  on  the  place 
would  make  him  howl.  She  was  an  emotional 
55 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

creature,  with  a  caustic  tongue  on  occasion,  and 
when  it  pleased  her  mood  to  look  over  her  shoul 
der  at  one  of  her  numerous  admirers  and  to 
wither  him  with  a  look  or  a  word,  ahe  did  not 
hesitate  to  do  it.  For  instance,  when  Apollo 
first  asked  her  to  marry  him  —  it  had  been  his 
habit  to  propose  to  her  every  day  or  so  for  a  year 
or  two  past  —  she  glanced  at  him  askance  from 
head  to  foot,  and  then  she  said :  "  Why,  yas. 
Dat  is,  I  s'pose,  of  co'se,  you's  de  sample.  Fd 
order  a  full-size  by  you  in  a  minute."  This  was 
cruel,  and  seeing  the  pathetic  look  come  into  his 
face,  she  instantly  repented  of  it,  and  walked 
home  from  church  with  him,  dismissing  a  hand 
some  black  fellow,  and  saying  only  kind  things 
to  Apollo  all  the  way.  And  while  he  walked  be 
side  her,  he  told  her  that,  although  she  couldn't 
realize  it,  he  was  as  tall  as  she,  for  his  feet  were 
not  on  the  ground  at  all;  which  was  in  a  manner 
true,  for  when  Lily  was  gracious  to  him,  he  felt 
himself  borne  along  on  wings  that  the  common 
people  could  not  see. 

Of  course  no  one  took  Apollo  seriously  as  Lily's 
suitor,  much  less  the  chocolate  maid  herself. 
But  there  were  other  lovers.  Indeed,  there  were 
all  the  others,  for  that  matter,  but  in  point  of 
eligibility  the  number  to  be  seriously  regarded 
56 


APOLLO    BELVEDERE 

was  reduced  to  about  two.  These  were  Pete 
Peters,  a  handsome  griff,  with  just  enough  Ind 
ian  in  his  blood  to  give  him  an  air  of  distinction, 
and  a  French-talking  mulatto  who  had  come  up 
from  New  Orleans  to  repair  the  machinery  in 
the  sugar-house,  and  who  was  buying  land  in  the 
vicinity,  and  drove  his  own  sulky.  Pete  was  less 
prosperous  then  he,  but  although  he  worked  his 
land  on  shares,  he  owned  two  mules  and  a  saddle- 
horse,  and  would  be  allowed  to  enter  on  a  pur 
chase  of  land  whenever  he  should  choose  to  do 
so.  Although  Pete  and  the  New  Orleans  fellow, 
whose  name  was  also  Peter,  but  who  was  called 
Pierre,  met  constantly  in  a  friendly  enough  way, 
they  did  not  love  each  other.  They  both  loved 
Lily  too  much  for  that.  But  they  laughed  good- 
naturedly  together  at  Apollo  and  his  "case," 
which  they  inquired  after  politely,  as  if  it  were 
a  member  of  his  family. 

"Well,  Tollo,  how's  yo3  case  on  Miss  Lily 
comhi'  on  ?"  either  one  would  say,  with  a  wink 
at  the  other,  and  Apollo  would  artlessly  report 
the  state  of  the  heavens  with  relation  to  his 
particular  star,  as  when  he  once  replied  to  this 
identical  question, 

"Well,  Miss  Lily  was  mighty  obstropulous 
'istiddy,  but  she  is  mo'  cancelized  dis  mornin'." 
57 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

It  was  Pete  who  had  asked  the  question,  and 
he  laughed  alond  at  the  answer.  "  Mo'  cancel- 
ized  dis  mornin',  is  she  ?"  he  replied.  "  How 
yon  know  she  is  ?" 

"'Gaze  she  lernme  tote  her  hoe  all  de  way  np 
f  om  de  field/'  answered  the  ingenuous  Apollo. 

"  She  did,  did  she  ?  An'  who  was  walkin'  by 
her  side  all  dat  time,  I  like  to  know  ?" 

Apollo  winced  a  little  at  this,  but  he  answered, 
bravely,  "  I  don't  kyah  ef  Pier  was  walkin'  wid 
her ;  I  was  totin'  her  hoe,  all  de  samee." 

At  this  Pete  seemed  to  forget  all  about  Apollo 
and  his  case,  and  he  remarked  that  he  never  could 
see  what  some  folks  saw  in  city  niggers,  nohow — 
and  neither  could  Apollo.  And  they  felt  a  mo 
mentary  sense  of  nearness  to  each  other  that  was 
not  exactly  a  bond,  but  they  did  not  talk  any 
more  as  they  walked  along. 

It  is  probable  that  the  coming  of  the  ' '  city 
fellow"  into  her  circle  hastened  to  culmination 
more  than  one  pending  romance,  and  there  were 
now  various  and  sundry  coldnesses  existing  be 
tween  Lily  and  a  number  of  the  boys  on  the 
place,  where  there  had  recently  existed  only  warm 
and  hopeful  friendships.  The  intruder,  who  had 
a  way  of  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  declaring 
of  almost  any  question,  "  Well,  me,  I  dun'no'," 
58 


APOLLO    BELVEDERE 

seemed  altogether  too  sure  when  it  came  to  a 
question  of  Lily.  At  least  so  he  appeared  to  her 
more  timid  rural  lovers. 

The  Christmas -eve  dance  in  the  sugar -house 
had  been  for  years  an  annual  function  on  the 
plantation.  At  this,  since  her  debut,  at  four 
teen,  three  Christmases  before,  Lily  had  held  un 
disputed  sway,  and  all  former  belles  amiably  ac 
cepted  their  places  as  lesser  lights.  But  there 
had  been  some  quarrelling  and  even  a  fight  or 
two  on  Lily's  account,  indirectly,  and  the  church 
people  had  declared  against  the  ball,  on  the  score 
of  domestic  peace  on  the  place.  They  had  fought 
dancing  per  se  as  long  as  they  could,  but  Terpsi 
chore  finally  waltzed  up  the  church  aisle,  figura 
tively  speaking,  and  flaunted  her  ruffled  skirts  in 
the  very  faces  of  elders  and  minister,  and  they 
had  had  to  smile  and  give  her  a  pew  to  keep  her 
still.  And  she  was  in  the  church  yet,  a  trouble 
maker  sometimes,  and  a  disturber  of  spiritual 
peace — but  still  there. 

If  they  had  forcibly  ejected  her,  some  of  their 
most  promising  and  important  members  would 
have  followed.  But  they  could  preach  to  her, 
and  so  they  did.  Mayhap  in  time  they  would 
convert  her  and  have  her  and  her  numerous  vo- 
59 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

taries  for  their  own.  As  the  reverend  brother 
thundered  out  his  denunciations  of  the  ungodly 
goddess  he  cast  his  eyes  often  in  the  direction  of 
the  leading  dancer,  and  from  her  they  would 
wander  to  the  small  fiddler  who  sat  beside  the 
tall  hat  in  a  back  pew.  But  somehow  neither 
Lily  nor  Apollo  seemed  in  the  least  conscious  of 
any  personal  appeal  in  his  glance,  and  when 
finally  the  question  of  the  Christmas  ball  was 
put  to  vote,  they  both  rose  and  unequivocally 
voted  for  it.  So,  for  that  matter,  did  so  large  a 
majority  that  one  of  the  elders  got  up  and  pro 
posed  that  the  church  hold  revival  meetings,  in 
the  hope  of  rousing  her  people  to  a  realization  of 
her  dangers.  And  then  Lily  whispered  something 
to  her  neighbor,  a  good  old  man  of  the  church, 
and  he  stood  up  and  announced  that  Miss  Lily 
Washington  proposed  to  have  the  revival  after 
Christmas.  There  was  some  laughter  at  this, 
and  the  pastor  very  seriously  objected  to  it  as 
thwarting  the  very  object  for  which  the  meetings 
would  be  held  ;  and  then,  seeing  herself  in  dan 
ger  of  being  vanquished  in  argument,  Lily,  blush 
ing  a  fine  copper-color  in  real  maidenly  embarrass 
ment,  rose  in  the  presence  of  the  congregation, 
to  say  that  when  she  proposed  to  have  the  revival 
after  Christmas,  she  "didn't  mean  no  harm." 
60 


APOLLO    BELVEDERE 

She  was  only  thinking  that  "  it  was  a  heap  better 
to  repent  'n  to  backslide." 

This  brought  down  the  house,  an  expression 
not  usually  employed  in  this  connection,  but 
which  seems  to  force  its  way  here  as  particularly 
fitting.  As  soon  as  he  could  get  a  hearing  the 
reverend  brother  gave  out  a  hymn,  followed  it 
with  a  short  prayer,  and  dismissed  the  congre 
gation.  And  on  the  Sunday  following  he  gave 
notice  that  for  several  reasons  it  had  been  decided 
as  expedient  to  postpone  the  revival  meetings  in 
the  church  until  after  Christmas.  No  doubt  he 
had  come  over  to  Lily's  way  of  thinking. 

Lily  was  perfectly  ravishing  in  her  splendor  at 
the  dance.  The  white  Swiss  frock  she  wore  was 
high  in  the  neck,  but  her  brown  shoulders  and 
arms  shone  through  the  thin  fabric  with  fine  ef 
fect.  About  her  slim  waist  she  tied  a  narrow 
ribbon  of  blue,  and  she  carried  a  pink  feather 
fan,  and  the  wreath  about  her  forehead  was  of 
lilies-of-the-valley.  She  had  done  a  day's  scour 
ing  for  them,  and  they  had  come  out  of  the  sum 
mer  hat  of  one  of  the  white  ladies  on  the  coast. 
This  insured  their  quality,  and  no  doubt  contrib 
uted  somewhat  to  the  quiet  serenity  with  which 
she  bore  herself  as,  with  her  little  head  held  like 
that  of  the  Venus  of  Milo,  she  danced  down  the 
61 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

centre  of  the  room,  holding  her  flounces  in  either 
hand,  and  kicking  the  floor  until  she  kicked  both 
her  slippers  to  pieces,  when  she  finished  the  fig 
ure  in  her  stocking  feet. 

She  had  a  relay  of  slippers  ready,  and  there 
was  a  scramble  as  to  who  should  put  them  on  ; 
but  she  settled  that  question  by  making  Tollo 
rise,  with  his  fiddle  in  his  arms,  and  lend  her  his 
chair  for  a  minute  while  she  pulled  them  on  her 
self.  Then  she  let  Pete  and  Pierre  each  have 
one  of  the  discarded  slippers  as  a  trophy.  Lily 
had  always  danced  out  several  pairs  of  slip 
pers  at  the  Christmas  dance,  but  she  had  never 
achieved  her  stocking  feet  in  the  first  round  un 
til  now,  and  she  was  in  high  glee  over  it.  If 
she  had  been  admired  before,  she  was  looked 
upon  as  a  raving,  tearing  beauty  to-night — and 
so  she  was.  Fortunately  Tollo  had  his  fiddling 
to  do,  and  this  saved  him  from  any  conspicuous 
folly.  But  he  kept  his  eyes  on  her,  and  when  she 
grew  too  ravishingly  lovely  to  his  fond  vision, 
and  he  couldn't  stand  it  a  minute  longer  in 
silence,  he  turned  to  the  man  next  him,  who 
played  the  bones,  and  remarked,  "  Ef — ef  any 
body  but  Gord  Almighty  had  a-made  anything 
as  purty  as  Miss  Lily,  dey'd  V  stinted  it  some- 
whar,"  and,  watching  every  turn,  he  lent  his 
62 


APOLLO    BELVEDERE 

bow  to  her  varying  moods  while  she  tired  out 
one  dancer  after  another.  It  was  the  New  Or 
leans  fellow  who  first  lost  his  head  utterly.  He 
had  danced  with  her  but  three  times,  but  while 
she  took  another's  hand  and  whizzed  through 
the  figures  he  scarcely  took  his  eyes  from  her, 
and  when,  at  about  midnight,  he  succeeded  in 
getting  her  apart  for  a  promenade,  he  poured 
forth  his  soul  to  her  in  the  picturesque  English 
of  the  quadroon  quarter  of  New  Orleans.  "An' 
now,  to  proof  to  you  my  lorv,  Ma'm'selle  Lee- 
lee" —  he  gesticulated  vigorously  as  he  spoke 
— "I  am  geeving  you  wan  beau-u-tiful  Christ 
inas  present — I  am  goin'  to  geeve  you — w'at  you 
t'ink  ?  My  borgee  I"  With  this  he  turned  dra 
matically  and  faced  her.  They  were  standing 
now  under  the  shed  outside  the  door  in  the 
moonlight,  and,  although  they  did  not  see  him, 
Apollo  stood  within  hearing,  behind  a  pile  of 
molasses  -  barrels,  where  he  had  come  "to  cool 
off." 

Lily  had  several  times  been  "  buggy  -  ridin' " 
with  Pierre  in  this  same  "  borgee,"  and  it  was 
a  very  magnificent  affair  in  her  eyes.  When 
he  told  her  that  it  was  to  be  hers  she  gasped. 
Such  presents  were  unknown  on  the  planta 
tion.  But  Lily  was  a  ee  mannerly "  member  of 
63 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

good  society,  if  her  circle  was  small,  and  she 
was  not  to  be  taken  aback  by  any  compliment 
a  man  should  pay  her.  She  simply  fanned  her 
self,  a  little  Hurriedly,  perhaps,  with  her  feather 
fan,  as  she  said:  "You  sho'  must  be  jokin', 
Mr.  Pier.  You  cert'n'y  must."  But  Mr.  Pierre 
was  not  joking.  He  was  never  more  in  earnest 
in  his  life,  and  he  told  her  so,  and  there  is  no 
telling  what  else  he  would  have  told  her  but 
for  the  fact  that  Mr.  Pete  Peters  happened  to 
come  out  to  the  shed  to  cool  off  about  this 
time,  and  as  he  almost  brushed  her  shoulder, 
it  was  as  little  as  Lily  could  do  to  address  a  re 
mark  to  him,  and  then,  of  course,  he  stopped 
and  chatted  a  while ;  and  after  what  appeared 
a  reasonable  interval,  long  enough  for  it  not  to 
seem  that  she  was  too  much  elated  over  it,  she 
remarked,  "An7  by-de-way,  Mr.  Peters,  I  must 
tell  you  what  a  lovely  Christmas  gif  I  have 
just  received  by  de  hand  of  Mr.  Pier.  He  has 
jest  presented  me  wid  his  yaller-wheeled  buggy, 
an'  I  sho'  is  proud  of  it."  Then,  turning  to 
Pierre,  she  added,  "You  sho'  is  a  mighty  gen 
erous  gentleman,  Mr.  Pier — you  certVy  is." 

Peters  gave   Lily  one  startled   look,  but  he 
instantly   realized,   from    her   ingenuous   man 
ner,  that  there  was  nothing  back  of  the  gift 
64 


APOLLO    BELVEDERE 

of  the  buggy  —  that  is,  it  had  been,  so  far  as 
she  was  concerned,  simply  a  Christmas  present. 
Pierre  had  not  offered  himself  with  the  gift. 
And  if  this  were  so,  well,  he  reckoned  he  could 
match  him. 

He  reached  forward  and  took  Lily's  fan  from 
her  hand.  He  hastened  to  do  this  to  keep  Pierre 
from  taking  it.  Then,  while  he  fanned  her,  he 
said,  ' '  Is  dat  so,  Miss  Lily,  dat  Mr.  Pier  is  give 
you  a  buggy  ?  Dat  sholy  is  a  fine  Christmas 
gif —  it  sho'  is.  An'  sence  you  fin'  yo'se'f 
possessed  of  a  buggy,  I  trust  you  will  allow  me 
de  pleasure  of  presentin'  you  wid  a  horse  to  drive 
in  de  buggy."  He  made  a  graceful  bow  as  he 
spoke,  a  bow  that  would  have  done  credit  to  the 
man  from  New  Orleans.  It  was  so  well  done, 
indeed,  that  Lily  unconsciously  bowed  in  return, 
as  she  said,  with  a  look  that  savored  a  little  of 
roguishness :  ' '  Oh,  hursh,  Mr.  Peters  !  You  des 
a-guyin'  me — dat  what  you  doinV 

"  Guyin'  nothing"  said  Peters,  grinning  broad 
ly  as  he  noted  the  expression  of  Pierre's  face. 
"  Ef  you'll  jes  do  me  de  honor  to  accep'  of  my 
horse,  Miss  Lily,  HI  be  de  proudest  gen'leman 
on  dis  plantation." 

At  this  she  chuckled,  and  took  her  fan  in  her 
own  hand.     And  then  she  turned  to  Pierre. 
E  65 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  Yon  sho'  has  set  de  style  o*  mighty  expensive 
Christmas  gif  s  on  dis  plantation,  Mr.  Pier — yon 
cert'n'y  has.  An'  I  wants  to  thank  yon  bofe 
mos?  kindly — I  cert'n'y  does." 

Having  heard  this  much,  'Polio  thonght  it 
time  to  come  from  his  hiding,  and  he  strolled 
leisnrely  ont  in  the  other  direction  first,  bnt 
soon  returned  this  way.  And  then  he  stopped, 
and  reaching  over,  took  the  feather  fan  —  and 
for  a  few  moments  he  had  his  innings.  Then 
some  one  else  came  along  and  the  conversation 
became  impersonal,  and  one  by  one  they  all 
dropped  off — all  except  'Polio.  When  the  rest 
had  gone  he  and  Lily  fonnd  seats  on  the  cane- 
carrier,  and  they  talked  a  while,  and  when  a  lit 
tle  later  supper  was  announced,  it  was  the  proud 
fiddler  who  took  her  in,  while  Pierre  and  Peters 
stood  off  and  politely  glared  at  each  other; 
and  after  a  while  Pierre  must  have  said  some 
thing,  for  Peters  suddenly  sprang  at  him  and 
tumbled  him  out  the  door  and  rolled  him  over 
in  the  dirt,  and  they  had  to  be  separated.  Bnt 
presently  they  laughed  and  shook  hands,  and 
Pierre  offered  Pete  a  cigarette,  and  Pete  took 
it,  and  gave  Pierre  a  light— and  it  was  all  over. 

It  was  next  day — Christmas  morning — and  the 
66 


APOLLO    BELVEDERE 

young  people  were  standing  about  in  groups  un 
der  the  China-trees  in  the  campus,  when  Apollo 
joined  them,  looking  unusually  chipper  and 
beaming.  He  was  dressed  in  his  best — Prince 
Albert,  beaver,  and  all  —  and  he  sported  a 
bright  silk  handkerchief  tied  loosely  about  his 
neck. 

He  was  altogether  a  delightful  figure,  abso 
lutely  content  with  himself,  and  apparently  at 
peace  with  the  world.  No  sooner  had  he  joined 
the  crowd  than  the  fellows  began  chaffing  him, 
as  usual,  and  presently  some  one  mentioned 
Lily's  name  and  spoke  of  her  presents.  The 
two  men  who  had  broken  the  record  for  gen 
erosity  in  the  history  of  plantation  lovers  were 
looked  upon  as  nabobs  by  those  of  lesser  means. 
Of  course  everybody  knew  the  city  fellow  had 
started  it,  and  they  were  glad  Peters  had  come 
to  time  and  saved  the  dignity  of  the  place  ;  in 
deed  he  was  about  the  only  one  on  the  plantation 
who  could  have  done  it. 

As  they  stood  talking  it  over  the  two  heroes 
had  nothing  to  say,  of  course,  and  Tollo  began 
rolling  a  cigarette — an  art  he  had  learned  from 
the  man  from  New  Orleans. 

Finally  he    remarked,  "Yas,  Miss   Lily  got 
sev'al  mighty  nice  presents  last  night." 
67 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

At  this  Pierre  turned,  langhing,  and  said,  "I 
s'pose  you  geeve  'er  somet'ing  too,  eh  ?" 

"Pity  you  hadn't  a -give  her  dat  silk  hank- 
cher.  Hit  'd  become  her  a  heap  better'n  it  be 
comes  you,"  Peters  said,  laughing. 

"Yas,  I  reckon  it  would,"  said 'Polio ;  "but 
de  fact  is  she  gi'  me  dis  hankcher — an'  of  co'se  I 
accepted  it." 

"  But  why  ain't  you  tellin'  us  what  you  give 
her  ?"  insisted  Peters. 

•'Polio  put  the  cigarette  to  his  lips,  deliberately 
lit  it,  puffed  several  times,  and  then,  removing 
it  in  a  leisurely  way,  he  drawled  : 

"  Well,  de  fact  is  I  heerd  Mr.  Pier  here  give 
her  a  buggy,  an'  —  an'  Mr.  Peters,  he  up  an' 
handed  over  a  horse,  —  an'  so,  quick  as  I  got 
a  chance,  I  des  balanced  my  ekalub'ium  an' 
went  an'  set  down  beside  her  an'  ast  her  ef  she 
wouldn't  do  me  de  honor  to  accep'  of  a  driver, 
an' — an'  she  say  yas. 

"  You  know  I'm  a  coachman  by  trade. 

"An'  dat's  huccome  I  come  to  say  she  got 
sev'al  presents  las'  night." 

And  he  took  another  puff  of  his  cigarette. 


WEAKEST    OF    KIN 
(ON  THE  PLANTATION) 


NEAKEST    OF    KIN 

(ON  THE  PLANTATION) 


WHEN  Tamar  the  laundress  was  married  to 
the  coachman  Pompey,  there  was  a  big 
time  on  the  plantation.  Tamar  wore 
white  tarlatan  and  an  orange  wreath — although 
it  was  her  severalth  marriage — and  she  had  six 
bridemaids  and  a  train-bearer.  The  last,  a  slim 
little  black  girl  of  about  ten  years,  was  dressed 
somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  the  ballet,  in  green 
tarlatan  with  spangles,  and  her  slender  legs  were 
carefully  wrapped  with  gilt  paper  that  glistened 
through  the  clocked  stockings  with  fine  effect. 
Otherwise  the  "  clockings  "  in  the  black  stocki 
net  would  have  lost  their  value. 

Pompey,  as  groom,  was  resplendent  in  the  full 
glare  of  a  white  duck  suit,  and  he  wore  a  rosette 
of  satin  ribbon — "  so's  to  'stinguish  him  out  f  om 
71 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

de  groomsmen/'  each  of  whom  was  likewise 
"ducked"  out  in  immaculate  linen;  and  if 
there  were  some  suggestive  misfits  among  them, 
there  were  ample  laundry  compensations  in  the 
way  of  starch  and  polish — a  proud  achievement 
of  the  bride. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  marching  up  and 
down  the  aisles  of  the  church  by  the  entire  party 
before  the  ceremony,  which  was,  altogether,  real 
ly  very  effective.  Pompey  was  as  black  as  his 
bride,  and  his  face  was  as  carefully  oiled  and 
polished  for  the  occasion  as  hers,  which  is  saying 
a  good  deal,  both  as  to  color  and  shine. 

After  the  ceremony  everybody  repaired,  for  a 
supper  and  dance,  to  the  sugar -house,  where 
there  was  a  bride's  cake,  with  all  the  usual  acces 
sories,  such  as  the  ring  and  thimble,  to  be  cut 
for.  And  of  course,  before  the  end  of  the  even 
ing,  there  was  the  usual  distribution  of  bits  of 
cake  to  be  "dreamed  on."  This  last,  indeed, 
was  so  important  that  nearly  every  girl  on  the 
plantation  slept  in  a  neighbor's  cabin  that  night, 
so  as  to  command  the  full  potency  of  the  charm 
by  dreaming  her  great  dream  in  a  strange  bed. 
The  whole  wedding  was,  in  fact,  so  disturbing  a 
social  function  that  everything  on  the  place 
was  more  or  less  disarranged  by  it — even  the 
72 


NEAREST    OF    KIN 

breakfast  hour  at  the  great  house,  which  was 
fully  three-quarters  of  an  hour  late  next  morn 
ing.  But  that  was  no  great  matter,  as  all  the 
family  had  been  witnesses  to  the  wedding  and 
were  somewhat  sleepy  in  consequence — and  the 
" rising-bell"  was  a  movable  form  anyway. 

Perhaps  if  the  nuptials  had  been  less  festive 
the  demeanor  of  the  bride  immediately  after 
wards  would  not  have  been  so  conspicuous.  As 
it  was,  however,  when  she  appeared  at  the  wash- 
house,  ready  for  duty,  on  the  second  morning 
following,  dressed  in  heavy  mourning,  and  wear 
ing,  moreover,  a  pseudo-sorrowful  expression  on 
her  every-otherwise  shining  face,  they  wondered, 
and  there  was  some  nudging  and  whispering 
among  the  negroes.  Some  hastily  concluded 
that  the  marriage  had  been  rashly  repudiated  as 
a  failure  ;  but  when  presently  the  groom  strolled 
into  the  yard,  smiling  broadly,  and  when  he  pro 
ceeded  with  many  a  nourish  to  devotedly  fill  her 
wash-tubs  from  the  well  for  his  bride,  they  saw 
that  there  must  be  some  other  explanation.  The 
importance  of  the  central  figure  in  so  recent  a 
pageant  still  surrounded  her  with  somewhat  of  a 
glamour  in  the  eyes  of  her  companions,  setting 
her  apart,  so  that  they  were  slow  to  ask  her  any 
questions. 

73 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Later  in  the  day,  though,  when  her  mistress, 
happening  to  pass  through  the  yard,  saw  the 
black-gowned  figure  bending  low  over  the  tubs, 
she  hastened  to  the  wash-shed. 

"Why,  Tamar,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  on 
earth—" 

At  this  Tamar  raised  her  face  and  smiled  faint 
ly.  Then,  glancing  down  at  her  dress  to  indicate 
that  she  understood,  she  drawled,  demurely  : 

"  Ain't  nothin'  de  matter,  missy.  I  jes  mo'nin' 
for  Sister  Sophy-Sophia." 

"  Sophy-Sophia  !     You  don't  mean — " 

"  Yas,  'm,  I  does.  I  means  Pompey's  las7  wife, 
Sis'  Sophy-Sophia.  She  didn't  have  no  kinfolks 
to  go  in  mo'nin'  for  her,  an'  time  Pompey  an'  me 
got  ingaged  he  made  known  his  wushes  to  me, 
an'  I  promised  him  I'd  put  on  mo'niu'  for  her 
soon  as  I  married  into  de  family.  Co'se  I  couldn't 
do  it  'fo'I  was  kin  to  her." 

" Kin  to  her  !"  the  mistress  laughed.  "Why, 
Tamar,  what  relation  on  earth  are  you  to  Pom- 
pey's  former  wife,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

The  black  woman  dropped  the  garment  she  was 
wringing  and  thought  a  moment. 

"  Well,  missy,"  she  said,  presently,  "  looks  to 
me  like  I'm  a  speritu'l  foster-sister  to  her,  ef  I 
ain't  no  mo' — an'  I  done  inherited  all  her  rights 
74 


"l   PROMISED    HTM   I'D   PUT    ON    MO'NIN*    FOR   HER,   SOON   AS   I 
MARRIED    INTO    DE    FAMILY  '  " 


NEAREST    OF    KIN 

an'  privileges,,  so  Pompey  say — an7  ef  I  'ain't  got 
a  right  to  mo'n  for  her,  who  is  9  Dey  tell  me  a 
'oman  is  got  a  right  to  go  in  mo'nin'  for  her  hus 
band's  kin  anyway;  but  of  co'se,  come  down  to  it, 
she  warn't  no  blood-kin  to  Pompey,  nohow.  How- 
somever,  eve'ybody  knows  a  widder  or  a  widderer 
is  in  titled  to  wear  all  de  mo'nin'  dey  is;  an'  his 
wife,  why,  she's  intitled  to  a  equal  sheer  in  it,  if 
she  choose  to  seize  her  rights.  I'd  V  put  it  on 
befo'  de  weddin',  'cep'n  I  didn't  have  no  title  to 
it,  an'  it  wouldn't  V  been  no  comfort  to  her  no 
ways.  Set  down,  missy."  She  began  wiping  off 
one  of  her  wash-benches  with  her  apron  as  she 
spoke.  "  Set  down,  mistus,  an'  lemme  talk  to 
you." 

The  situation  was  interesting,  and  the  mistress 
sat  down. 

"You  see,  missy"  —  she  had  come  nearer 
now,  and  assumed  a  confidential  tone — f '  you  see, 
Sister  Sophy-Sophia  she  'ain't  nuver  found  rest 
yit,  an'  dat  frets  Pompey.  Hit  troubles  'im  in 
de  sperit — an'  I  promised  him  to  try  to  pacify 
her." 

"  Pacify  her  !  Why,  Tamar  !  How  can  you 
pacify  a  person  who  is  dead  ?  And  how  do  you 
knew  that  her  spirit  isn't  at  rest  ?" 

The  black  woman  turned  and  looked  behind 
75 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

her  to  make  sure  that  no  one  should  overhear. 
Then,  lowering  her  voice,  she  whispered : 

"Her  grave  'ain't  nuver  settled  yit,  mistns. 
She  been  buried  ever  sence  befo'  Christmus,  an' 
hit  ain't  evened  down  yit.  An'  dat's  a  shore  sign 
of  a  onrestless  sperit — yas,  'm." 

Her  face  had  grown  suddenly  anxious  as  she 
spoke.  And  presently  she  added  : 

"  Of  co'se,  when  a  grave  settles  too  quick,  dat's 
a  sign  dey'll  soon  be  another  death,  an'  nobody 
don't  crave  to  see  a  grave  sink  too  sudden.  But 
it  '11  ease  down  gradual — ef  de  dead  sleeps  easy 
— yas,  'm.  No,  Sister  Sophy-Sophia  she  'ain't  took 
no  comfort  in  her  grave  yit.  An'  Pompey,  right 
eously  speakin',  ought  to  pacified  her  befo'  he  set 
out  to  marry  ag'in.  Heap  o'  'omans  would  V 
been  afeerd  to  marry  a  man  wid  a  unsunk  grave 
on  his  hands — 'feerd  she'd  ha'nt  her.  But  I 
done  had  'spe'unce,  an'  I'm  mo'  'feerd  o'  live 
ha'nts  'n  I  is  o'  dead  ones.  I  know  Sis'  Sophy- 
Sophia  she's  layin'  dar — an' she  can't  git  out. 
You  know,  she  died  o'  de  exclammatory  rheuma 
tism,  an'  some  say  hit  was  a  jedgmint  f'om  heav 
en.  You  know,  Sis'  Sophy  -  Sophia  she  was  a 
devil  for  fun.  She  would  have  her  joke.  An' 
some  say  Gord  A'mighty  punished  her  an'  turned 
eve'y  bone  in  'er  body  into  funny-bones,  jes  to 
76 


NEAREST  OF  KIN 

show  her  dat  eve'y  funny  thing  ain't  to  be  laughed 
at.  An'  ef  you  ever  got  a  sudden  whack  on  de 
funny-bone  in  yo'  elbow,  missy,  you  know  how 
she  suffered  when  she  was  teched.  An'  she  ain't 
at  rest  yit.  She  done  proved  dat.  Of  co'se,  ef 
she  died  wid  some'h'n'  on  'er  mind,  we  can't  do 
nothin'  for  her  ;  but  ef  she  jes  need  soothin',  I'll 
git  her  quieted  down." 

She  leaned  forward  and  resumed  her  washing 
— that  is  to  say,  she  raised  a  garment  from  the 
suds  and  looked  at  it,  turned  it  over  idly  in  her 
hands  several  times,  and  dipped  it  languidly. 

Her  visitor  watched  her  in  amused  silence  for 
a  while. 

"And  how  are  you  going  to  soothe  her,  Ta- 
mar  ?"  she  asked,  presently.  "  Tell  me  all  about 
it." 

At  this  the  woman  began  wiping  her  hands 
npon  her  apron,  and  dropping  into  a  seat  between 
two  of  the  tubs  and  resting  her  arms  upon  their 
rims,  she  faced  her  mistress. 

"  Of  co'se,  honey,"  she  began,  "  de  fust  thing 
is  to  wear  mo'nin'  —  an'  dat  ain't  no  special 
trouble  to  me  —  I  got  consider'ble  black  frocks 
lef  over  from  my  widderhoods.  An'  in  addition 
to  dat,  I  gwine  carry  it  around  in  my  counte 
nance — an'  ef  she  sees  it — an'  I  b'lieve  de  dead 
77 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

does  see — maybe  it  'U  ease  her  mind.  Of  co'se, 
when  a  pusson  ain't  able  to  sorrer  in  her  heart, 
dey  'bleeged  to  wear  it  in  dey  face — " 

There  was  something  in  her  voice  as  she  said 
these  last  words  —  an  indescribable  note  that 
seemed  to  express  detachment  from  all  feel 
ing  in  the  matter — that  made  her  listener  turn 
and  look  narrowly  into  her  face.  Still,  she  was 
not  in  the  least  prepared  for  the  hearty  laughter 
that  greeted  her  question. 

"•  And  don't  you  mourn  for  her  in  your  heart, 
Tamar  ?"  She  eyed  her  narrowly  as  she  put  the 
question. 

The  black  woman  did  not  even  attempt  an  an 
swer.  Nor  did  she  apparently  even  try  to  con 
trol  her  mirth.  But,  after  a  while,  when  she 
had  laughed  until  she  was  tired,  she  suddenly 
rose  to  her  feet,  and  as  she  gathered  up  a  hand 
ful  of  wet  garments,  and  began  rubbing  them  on 
the  wash-board,  she  exclaimed,  still  chuckling  : 

"  Lemme  git  to  my  washing  honey,  befo'  I  dis 
grace  my  mo'ninV 

In  a  little  while,  however,  she  grew  serious 
again,  and  although  she  still  seemed  to  have 
trouble  with  her  shoulders,  that  insisted  upon 
expressing  merriment,  she  said  : 

"  I  'clare,  I  talks  like  a  plumb  hycoprite,  missy 
78 


NEAREST    OF    KIN 

—I  sho'  does.  But  I  ain't.  No,  'm,  I  ain't.  Of 
co'se  I  grieves  for  Sis'  Sophy-Sophia.  I'd  grieve 
for  any  po'  human  dat  can't  find  rest  in  'er  grave 
— an'  I'm  gwine  to  consolate  her,  good  as  I  kin. 
Soon  as  de  dark  o'  de  moon  comes,  I  gwine  out 
an'  set  on  her  grave  an'  moan,  an'  ef  dat  don't 
ease  her,  maybe  when  her  funer'l  is  preached 
she'll  be  comforted." 

"  And  hasn't  she  had  her  funeral  sermon  yet, 
Tamar  ?" 

"Oh  no,  'm.  'Tain't  time,  hardly,  yit.  We 
mos'  gin'ly  waits  two  or  three  years  after  de  bury- 
in'  befo'  we  has  members'  f uner'ls  preached.  An' 
we  don't  nuver,  sca'cely,  have  'em  under  a  year. 
You  see,  dey's  a  lot  o'  smarty  folks  dat  'ain't  got 
nothin'  better  to  do  'n  to  bring  up  things  ag'in 
dead  folks's  cha'acter,  so  we  waits  tell  dey  been 
restin'  in  de  groun'  a  year  or  so.  Den  a  preach 
er  he  can  expec'  to  preach  dey  funer'ls  in  peace. 
De  fac'  is,  some  o'  our  mos'  piousest  elders  an' 
deacons  is  had  so  many  widders  show  up  at  dey 
funer'ls  dat  de  chu'ches  is  most  of  'em  passed  a 
law  dat  dey  compelled  to  wait  a  year  or  so  an' 
give  all  dese  heah  p'omiscu'us  widders  time  to 
marry  off — an'  save  scandalizement.  An'  Pom- 
pey  an'  Sophy-Sophia  dey  didn't  have  no  mo'n  a 
broomstick  weddin'  nohow — but  of  co'se  dey  did 
79 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

have  de  broomstick.  Pm  a  ivitness  to  dat,  'caze 
dey  borried  my  broom — yas,  'm.  Ricollec',  I  had 
one  o'  dese  heah  green-handle  sto'e  brooms,  an' 
Pompey  he  come  over  to  my  cabin  one  mornin' 
an7  he  say,  *  Sis'  Tamar,'  he  say,  *  would  you  mind 
loandin'  Sis'  Sophy-Sophia  dat  green  -  handle 
straw  broom  dat  you  sweeps  out  de  chu'ch-house 
wid  ?'  You  'member,  I  was  married  to  Wash 
Williams  dat  time — Wash  Williams  wha'  live 
down  heah  at  de  cross-roads  now.  He's  married 
to  Yaller  Silvy  now.  You  know  dat  red-head 
freckled-face  yaller  gal  dat  use  to  sew  for  Mis' 
Ann  Powers — always  wear  a  sailor  hat — wid  a 
waist  on  her  no  thicker'n  my  wris' — an''  a  hitch 
in  her  walk  eve'y  time  she  pass  a  man  ?  Dat's  de 
gal.  She  stole  Wash  f'om  me — an'  she's  welcome 
to  'im.  Any  'oman  is  welcome  to  any  man  she 
kin  git  f'om  me.  Dat's  my  principle.  But  dese 
heah  yaller  freckle  niggers  'ain't  got  no  principle 
to  'em.  I  done  heerd  dat  all  my  life — an'  Silvy 
she  done  proved  it.  Time  Wash  an'  me  was  mar 
ried  he  was  a  man  in  good  chu'ch  standin'— a 
reg'lar  ordained  sexton,  at  six  dollars  a  month 
— an*  I  done  de  sweepin'  for  him.  Dat's  huccome 
I  happened  to  have  dat  green-handle  sto'e  broom. 
Dat's  all  I  ever  did  git  out  o'  his  wages.  Any 
day  you'd  pass  Rose-o'-Sharon  Chu'ch  dem  days 
80 


NEAREST    OF    KIN 

you  conld  see  him  settin'  up  on  de  steps,  like  a 
gentleman,  an' 1  sho'  did  take  pride  in  him.  An' 
now,  dey  tell  me,  Silvy  she  got  him  down  to 
shirt-sleeves — splittin'  rails,  wid  his  breeches  gal- 
lused  up  wid  twine,  while  she  sets  in  de  cabin 
do'  wid  a  pink  caliker  Mother  Hubbard  wrapper 
on  fannin'  'erse'f.  An'  on  Saturdays,  when  he 
draw  his  pay,  you'll  mos'  gin'ally  see  'em  standin' 
together  at  de  hat  an'  ribbon  show-case  in  de 
sto'e — he  grinnin'  for  all  he's  worth.  An'  my 
belief  is  he  grins  des  to  hide  his  mizry." 

"You  certainly  were  very  good  to  do  his 
sweeping  for  him."  Tamar's  graphic  picture  of 
a  rather  strained  situation  was  so  humorous  that 
it  was  hard  to  take  calmly.  But  her  mistress 
tried  to  disguise  her  amusement  so  far  as  possi 
ble.  To  her  surprise,  the  question  seemed  to 
restore  the  black  woman  to  a  fresh  sense  of  her 
dignity  in  the  situation. 

"  Cert'ny  I  done  it/'  she  exclaimed,  dramat 
ically.  "Cert'ny.  You  reckon  I'd  live  in  de 
house  wid  a  man  dat  'd  handle  a  broom  ?  No, 
ma'am.  Nex'  thing  I'd  look  for  him  to  sew. 
No,  ma'am.  But  I  started  a-tellin'  you  hue- 
come  I  come  to  know  dat  Pompey  an'  Sis'  So 
phy-Sophia  was  legally  married  wid  a  broom. 
One  day  he  come  over  to  my  cabin,  jes  like  I 
F  81 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

commenced  tellin'  you,  an'  he  s'lute  me  wid, 
1  Good-mornin',  Sis'  Tamar ;  I  come  over  to  see 
ef  you  won't  please,  ma'am,  loand  Sister  Sophy- 
Sophia  Sanders  dat  straw  broom  wha'  you 
sweeps  out  de  chu'ch-house  wid,  please,  ma'am?' 
An'  I  ricollec's  de  answer  I  made  him.  I 
laughed,  an'  I  say,  'Well,  Pompey,'  I  say,  'I 
don't  know  about  loandin'  out  a  chu'ch  broom 
to  a  sinner  like  you.'  An'  at  dat  he  giggle, 
'Well,  we  wants  it  to  play  preacher — an'  dat 
seems  like  a  mighty  suitable  job  for  a  chu'ch 
broom.'  An'  of  co'se  wid  dat  I  passed  over  de 
broom,  wid  my  best  wushes  to  de  bride ;  an' 
when  he  fetched  it  back,  I  ricollec',  he  fetched 
me  a  piece  o'  de  weddin'-cake — but  it  warn't  no 
mo'n  common  one- two- three-fo'-cup- cake  wid 
about  seventeen  onfriendly  reesons  stirred  into 
it  wid  brown  sugar.  I  'clare,  when  I  looks 
back,  I  sho'  is  ashamed  to  know  dat  dey  was 
ever  sech  a  po'  weddin'-cake  in  my  family — I 
sho'  is.  Now  you  know,  missy,  of  co'se,  dese 
heah  broom  -  weddin's  dey  ain't  writ  down  in 
nuther  co't-house  nur  chu'ch  books — an'  so  ef 
any  o'  dese  heah  smarty  meddlers  was  to  try  to 
bring  up  ole  sco'es  an'  say  dat  Sister  Sophy- 
Sophia  wasn't  legally  married,  dey  wouldn't  be 
no  witnesses  ~but  me  an'  de  broom,  an'  I'd  have 


NEAREST    OF    KIN 

to  witness  for  it,  an' — an'  /wouldn't  be  no  legal 
witness." 

"Why  wouldn't  you  be  a  legal  witness,  Ta- 
mar  ?" 

"'Caste  I  got  de  same  man — an'  dat's  de  sus- 
piciouses'  thing  dey  kin  bring  up  ag'ins'  a  wit 
ness — so  dey  tell  me.  Ef  'twarn't  for  dat,  I'd 
'a'  had  her  fun'al  preached  las'  month." 

"But  even  supposing  the  matter  had  been 
stirred  up — and  you  had  been  unable  to  prove 
that  everything  was  as  you  wished — wouldn't 
your  minister  have  preached  a  funeral  sermon 
anyway  ?" 

"Oh  yas,  'm,  cert'ny.  On'y  de  fun'al  he'd 
preach  wouldn't  help  her  to  rest  in  her  grave — 
dat's  de  on'ies'  diffe'ence.  Like  as  not  dey'd 
git  ole  Brother  Philemon  Peters  down  f'om  de 
bottom-lands  to  preach  wrath — an'  I  wants 
grace  preached  at  Sister  Sophy-Sophia's  fun'al, 
even  ef  I  has  to  wait  ten  years  for  it.  She 
died  in  pain,  but  I  hope  for  her  to  rest  in  peace 
— an'  not  to  disgrace  heaven  wid  crutches  under 
her  wings,  nuther.  I  know  half  a  dozen  loud- 
prayers,  now,  dat  'd  be  on'y  too  glad  to  'tract 
attention  away  f'om  dey  own  misdoin's  by  rakin' 
out  scandalizemint  on  a  dead  'oman.  Dey'd 
'spute  de  legalness  of  dat  marriage  in  a  minute, 
88 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

jes  to  keep  folks  f'om  lookin'  up  dey  own  wed- 
din'  papers — yas,  'm.  But  me  an*  de  broom — 
we  layin'  low,  now,  an'  keepin'  still,  but  we'll 
speak  when  de  time  comes  at  de  jedgmint  day, 
ef  she  need  a  witness." 

"But  tell  me,  Tamar,  why  didn't  Pompey 
take  his  bride  to  the  church  if  they  wanted  a 
regular  wedding  ?" 

"Dey  couldn't,  missy.  Dey  couldn't  on  ac 
count  o'  Sis'  Sophy  -  Sophia's  secon'  husband, 
Sam  Sanders.  He  hadn't  made  no  secon'  ch'ice 
yit — an',  you  know,  when  de  fust  one  of  a  part 
ed  couple  marries  ag'in,  dey  'bleeged  to  take 
to  de  broomstick  —  less'n  dey  go  whar  'tain't 
known  on  'em.  Dat's  de  rule  o'  divo'cemint. 
When  Yaller  Silvy  married  my  Joe  wid  a  broom 
stick,  dat  lef  me  free  for  a  chu'ch  marriage. 
An'  I  tell  you,  /  had  it,  too.  But  ef  she  had 
a'tempted  to  walk  up  a  chu'ch  aisle  wid  Joe — 
an'  me  still  onmarried — well,  I  wush  dey'd  V 
tried  it !  I'd  V  been  standin'  befo'  de  pulpit 
a-waitin'  for  'em — an'  I'd  'a'  quoted  some  Script 
ure  at  'em,  too.  But  dey  acted  accordin'  to 
law.  Dey  married  quiet,  wid  a  broomstick,  an' 
de  nex'  Sunday  walked  in  chu'ch  together,  took 
de  same  pew,  an'  he  turned  her  pages  mannerly 
for  her — an'  dat's  de  ladylikest  behavior  Silvy 
84 


NEAREST    OF   KIN 

ever  been  guilty  of  in  her  life,  I  reckon.  She 
an'  him  can't  nair  one  of  'em  read,  but  dey  sets 
still  an'  holds  de  book  an'  turns  de  pages — an 
Gord  Hisself  couldn't  ax  no  mo'  for  chu'ch  be 
havior.  But  lemme  go  on  wid  my  washin', 
missy — for  Gord's  sake." 

Laughing  again  now,  she  drew  a  match  from 
the  ledge  of  one  of  the  rafters,  struck  it  across 
the  sole  of  her  bare  foot,  and  began  to  light  the 
fire  under  her  furnace.  And  as  she  flattened 
herself  against  the  ground  to  blow  the  kindling 
pine,  she  added,  between  puffs,  and  without  so 
much  as  a  change  of  tone  : 

"  Don't  go,  please,  ma'am,  tell  I  git  dis  char 
coal  lit  to  start  dese  shirts  to  bile.  I  been  try- 
in'  to  fix  my  mouf  to  ax  you  is  you  got  air  ole 
crepe  veil  you  could  gimme  to  wear  to  chu'ch 
nex'  Sunday — please,  ma'am  ?  I  'clare,  I  won 
der  what's  de  sign  when  you  blowin'  one  way 
an'  a  live  coal  come  right  back  at  yer  'gins'  de 
wind  ?"  And  sitting  upon  the  ground,  she  add 
ed,  as  she  touched  her  finger  to  her  tongue  and 
rubbed  a  burnt  spot  upon  her  chin  :  "  Pompey 
'd  be  mighty  proud  ef  I  could  walk  in  chu'ch 
by  his  side  in  full  sisterly  mo'nin'  nex'  Sunday 
for  po'  Sister  Sophy-Sophia — yas,  'm.  I  hope 
you  kin  fin'  me  a  ole  crepe  veil,  please,  ma'am," 
85 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Unfortunately  for  the  full  blossoming  of  this 
mourning  flower  of  Afro- American  civilization, 
as  it  is  sometimes  seen  to  bloom  along  the  by 
ways  of  plantation  life,  there  was  not  a  second 
hand  veil  of  crepe  forth  -  coming  on  this  occa 
sion.  There  were  small  compensations,  however, 
in  sundry  effective  accessories,  such  as  a  crepe 
collar  and  bonnet,  not  to  mention  a  funereal  fan 
of  waving  black  plumes,  which  Pompey  flour 
ished  for  his  wife's  benefit  during  the  entire 
service.  Certainly  the  "speritu'l  foster-sister" 
of  the  mourning  bride,  if  she  witnessed  the 
tribute  paid  her  that  Sunday  morning  in  full 
view  of  the  entire  congregation — for  the  bridal 
pair  occupied  the  front  pew  under  the  pulpit — 
would  have  been  obdurate  indeed  if  she  had  not 
been  somewhat  mollified. 

Tamar  consistently  wore  her  mourning  garb 
for  some  months,  and,  so  far  as  is  known,  it 
made  no  further  impression  upon  her  com 
panions  than  to  cause  a  few  smiles  and  ex 
changes  of  glances  at  first  among  those  of 
lighter  mind  among  them,  some  of  whom  were 
even  so  uncharitable  as  to  insinuate  that  Sis' 
Tamar  wasn't  "half  so  grieved  as  she  let  on." 
The  more  serious,  however,  united  in  com 
mending  her  act  as  ' '  mos'  Christian  -  like  an* 


NEAREST    OF    KIN 

sisterly  conducV  And  when,  after  the  gentle 
insistence  of  the  long  spring  rains,  added  to  the 
persuasiveness  of  Tamar's  mourning,  the  grave 
of  her  solicitude  sank  to  an  easy  level,  bespeak 
ing  peace  to  its  occupant,  Tamar  suddenly  burst 
into  full  flower  of  flaming  color,  and  the  mourn 
ing  period  became  a  forgotten  episode  of  the 
past.  Indeed,  in  reviewing  the  ways  and  doings 
of  the  plantation  in  those  days,  it  seems  entitled 
to  no  more  prominence  in  the  retrospect  than 
many  another  incident  of  equal  ingenuousness 
and  novelty.  There  was  the  second  wooing  of 
old  Aunt  Salina-Sue,  for  instance,  and  Uncle 
'Kiah's  diseases  ;  but,  as  Another  would  say, 
these  are  other  stories. 

Another  year  passed  over  the  plantation,  and 
in  the  interval  the  always  expected  had  hap 
pened  to  the  house  of  Pompey  the  coachman. 
It  was  a  tiny  girl  child,  black  of  hue  as  both  her 
doting  parents,  and  endowed  with  the  name  of 
her  sire,  somewhat  feminized  for  her  fitting  into 
the  rather  euphonious  Pompeylou.  Tamar  had 
lost  her  other  children  in  infancy,  and  so  the 
pansy-faced  little  Pompeylou  of  her  mid-life  was 
a  great  joy  to  her,  and  most  of  her  leisure  was 
devoted  to  the  making  of  the  pink  calico  slips 
that  went  to  the  little  one's  adorning. 
87 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

On  her  first  journey  into  the  great  world  be 
yond  the  plantation,  however,  she  was  not  arrayed 
in  one  of  these.  Indeed,  the  long  gown  she  wore 
on  this  occasion  was,  like  that  of  her  mother, 
as  black  as  the  rejuvenated  band  of  crepe  upon 
her  father's  stovepipe  hat;  for,  be  it  known, 
this  interesting  family  of  three  was  to  form  a 
line  of  chief  mourners  on  the  front  pew  of  Rose- 
of-Sharon  Church  on  the  occasion  of  the  preach 
ing  of  the  funeral  of  the  faithfully  mourned  and 
long  -  lamented  Sophy  -  Sophia,  whose  hour  of 
posthumous  honor  had  at  length  arrived.  The 
obsequies  in  her  memory  had  been  fixed  for  an 
earlier  date,  but  in  deference  to  the  too-recent 
arrival  of  her  "nearest  of  kin"  was  then  too 
young  to  attend,  they  had  been  deferred  by 
Tamar's  request,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no 
child  was  ever  brought  forward  with  more  pride 
at  any  family  gathering  than  was  the  tiny  Miss 
Pompeylou  when  she  was  carried  up  the  aisle 
"  to  hear  her  step-mammy's  funeral  preached." 

It  was  a  great  day,  and  the  babe,  who  was 
on  her  very  best  six-months-old  behavior,  lis 
tened  with  admirable  placidity  to  the  "  sermon 
of  grace,"  on  which  at  a  future  time  she  might, 
perhaps,  found  a  genealogy.  Her  only  offence 
against  perfect  church  decorum  was  a  some- 


NEAREST    OF    KIN 

times  rather  explosive  "Agoo  I"  as  she  tried  to 
reach  the  ever-swaying  black  feather  fan  that 
was  waved  by  her  parents  in  turn  for  her  benefit. 
Before  the  service  was  over,  indeed,  she  had 
secured  and  torn  the  proud  emblem  into  bits ; 
but  Tamar  only  smiled  at  its  demolition  by  the 
baby  fingers.  It  was  a  good  omen,  she  said, 
and  meant  that  the  day  of  mourning  was  over. 


THE  DEACON'S    MEDICINE 


THE  DEACON'S  MEDICINE 


WHEN  the  doctor  drove  by  the  Gregg  farm 
about  dusk,  and  saw  old  Deacon  Gregg 
perched  cross-legged  upon  his  own  gate 
post,  he  knew  that  something  was  wrong  within, 
and  he  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  drive 
up  and  speak  to  the  old  man. 

It  was  common  talk  in  the  neighborhood  that 
when  Grandmother  Gregg  made  things  too  warm 
for  him  in-doors,  the  good  man,  her  spouse,  was 
wont  to  stroll  out  to  the  front  gate  and  to  take 
this  exalted  seat. 

Indeed,  it  was  said  by  a  certain  Mrs.  Frequent, 
a  neighbor  of  prying  proclivities  and  ungentle 
speech,  that  the  deacon's  wife  sent  him  there  as 
a  punishment  for  misdemeanors.  Furthermore, 
this  same  Mrs.  Frequent  did  even  go  so  far  as 
to  watch  for  the  deacon,  and  when  she  would 
see  him  laboriously  rise  and  resignedly  poise 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

himself  npon  the  narrow  area,  she  would  re 
mark  : 

"  Well,  I  see  Grandma  Gregg  has  got  the  old 
man  punished  again.  Wonder  what  he's  been  up 
to  now  ?" 

Her  constant  repetition  of  the  unkind  charge 
finally  gained  for  it  such  credence  that  the  di 
minutive  figure  upon  the  gate-post  became  an  ob 
ject  of  mingled  sympathy  and  mirth  in  the  pop 
ular  regard. 

The  old  doctor  was  the  friend  of  a  lifetime,  and 
he  was  sincerely  attached  to  the  deacon,  and 
when  he  turned  his  horse's  head  towards  the  gate 
this  evening,  he  felt  his  heart  go  out  in  sympa 
thy  to  the  old  man  in  durance  vile  upon  his  lone 
ly  perch. 

But  he  had  barely  started  to  the  gate  when  he 
heard  a  voice  which  he  recognized  as  the  dea 
con's,  whereupon  he  would  have  hurried  away 
had  not  his  horse  committed  him  to  his  first  im 
pulse  by  unequivocally  facing  the  gate. 

"  I  know  three's  a  crowd,"  he  called  out  cheer 
ily  as  he  presently  drew  rein,  "but  I  ain't  a-goin' 
to  stay ;  I  jest —  Why,  where's  grandma  ?"  he 
added,  abruptly,  seeing  the  old  man  alone.  "  I'm 
shore  I  heard — " 

"  You  jest  heerd  me  a-talkin'  to  myself,  doc- 
94 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

tor — or  not  to  myself,  exactly,  neither — that  is 
to  say,  when  yon  come  np  I  was  addressin'  my 
remarks  to  this  here  pill." 

"Bill?  I  don't  see  no  bill."  The  doctor 
drew  his  buggy  nearer.  He  was  a  little  deaf. 

"  No  ;  I  said  this  pill,  doctor.  Fm  a-holdin' 
of  it  here  in  the  pa'm  o'  my  hand,  a-studyin'  over 
it." 

"  What's  she  a-dosin'  you  for  now,  Enoch  ?" 

The  doctor  always  called  the  deacon  by  his  first 
name  when  he  approached  him  in  sympathy.  He 
did  not  know  it.  Neither  did  the  deacon,  but 
he  felt  the  sympathy,  and  it  unlocked  the  portals 
of  his  heart. 

"  Well " — the  old  man's  voice  softened — "  she 
thinks  I  stand  in  need  of  'em,  of  co'se.  The  fact 
is,  that  yaller-spotted  steer  run  ag'in  her  clo'es- 
line  twice-t  to-day — drug  the  whole  week's  wash- 
in'  onto  the  ground,  an'  then  tromped  on  it.  She's 
inside  a-renchin'  an'  a-starchin'  of  'em  over  now. 
An'  right  on  top  o'  that,  I  come  in  lookin'  sort  o' 
puny  an'  peaked,  an'  I  happened  to  choke  on  a 
muskitty  jest  ez  I  come  in,  an'  she  declared  she 
wasn't  a-goin'  to  have  a  consumpted  man  sick  on 
her  hands  an'  a  clo'es-destroyin'  steer  at  the  same 
time.  An'  with  that  she  up  an'  wiped  her  hands 
on  her  apron,  an'  went  an'  selected  this  here  pill 
95 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

out  of  a  bottle  of  assorted  sizes,  an'  instructed 
me  to  take  it.  They  never  was  a  thing  done  mo' 
deliberate  an'  kind — never  on  earth.  But  of  co'se 
you  an'  she  know  how  it  plegs  me  to  take  physic. 
You  could  mould  out  ice-cream  in  little  pill 
shapes  an'  it  would  gag  me,  even  ef  'twas  va- 
nilly-flavored.  An'  so,  when  I  received  it,  why, 
I  jest  come  out  here  to  meditate.  You  can  see 
it  from  where  you  set,  doctor.  It's  a  purty  size 
able  one,  and  I'm  mighty  suspicious  of  it." 

The  doctor  cleared  his  throat.  "Yas,  I  can 
see  it,  Enoch — of  co'se." 

"  Could  you  jedge  of  it,  doctor  ?  That  is,  of 
its  capabilities,  I  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  no,  of  co'se  not — not  less'n  I'd  taste  it, 
an'  you  can  do  that  ez  well  ez  I  can.  If  it's  qui 
nine,  it  '11  be  bitter  ;  an'  ef  it's  soggy  an' — " 

"  Don't  explain  no  mo',  doctor.  I  can't  stand 
it.  I  s'pose  it's  jest  ez  foolish  to  investigate  the 
inwardness  of  a  pill  a  person  is  bound  to  take  ez 
it  would  be  to  try  to  lif  the  veil  of  the  future  in 
any  other  way.  When  I'm  obligated  to  swaller 
one  of  'em,  I  jest  take  a  swig  o'  good  spring  wa 
ter  and  repeat  a  po'tion  of  Scripture  and  commit 
myself  unto  the  Lord.  I  always  seem  foreordain 
ed  to  choke  to  death,  but  I  notice  thet  ef  I  re 
cover  from  the  first  spell  o'  suffocation,  I  always 
96 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

come  through.  But  I  'ain't  never  took  one  yet 
thet  I  didn't  in  a  manner  prepare  to  die." 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  take  it,  Enoch.  Don't  do 
it."  The  doctor  cleared  his  throat  again,  but 
this  time  he  had  no  trouble  to  keep  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  down.  His  sympathy  robbed  him 
for  the  time  of  the  humor  in  the  situation.  "  No, 
I  wouldn't  do  it — doggone  ef  I  would." 

The  deacon  looked  into  the  palm  of  his  hand 
and  sighed.  "  Oh  yas,  I  reckon  I  better  take 
it,"  he  said,  mildly.  "  Ef  I  don't  stand  in  need 
of  it  now,  maybe  the  good  Lord  '11  sto'e  it  up  in 
my  system,  some  way,  'g'inst  a  future  attackt." 

"Well" — the  doctor  reached  for  his  whip — 
"  well,  /  wouldn't  do  it — steer  or  no  steer !" 

"  Oh  yas,  I  reckon  you  would,  doctor,  ef  you 
had  a  wife  ez  worrited  over  a  wash-tub  ez  what 
mine  is.  An'  I  had  a  extry  shirt  in  wash  this 
week,  too.  One  little  pill  ain't  much  when  yon 
take  in  how  she's  been  tantalized." 

The  doctor  laughed  outright. 

"Tell  you  what  to  do,  Enoch.  Fling  it  away 
and  don't  let  on.  She  don't  question  you,  does 
she  ?" 

"No,  she  'ain't  never  to  say  questioned  me, 
but —  Well,  I  tried  that  once-t.  Sampled  a 
bitter  white  capsule  she  gave  me,  put  it  down  for 
G  97 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

quinine,  an'  flung  it  away.  Then  I  chirped  up 
an'  said  I  felt  a  heap  better — and  that  wasn't  no 
lie — which  I  suppose  was  on  account  o'  the  relief 
to  my  mind,  which  it  always  did  seem  to  me  cap 
sules  was  jest  constructed  to  lodge  in  a  person's 
air-passages.  Jest  lookin'  at  a  box  of  'em  '11  make 
me  low-sperited.  Well,  I  taken  notice  thet  she'd 
look  at  me  keen  now  an'  ag'in,  an'  then  look  up 
at  the  clock,  an'  treckly  I  see  her  fill  the  gou'd 
dipper  an'  go  to  her  medicine-cabinet,  an'  then 
she  come  to  me  an'  she  says,  says  she,  'Open 
yore  mouth  !'  An'  of  co'se  I  opened  it.  You  see 
that  first  capsule,  ez  well  ez  the  one  she  had  jest 
administered,  was  mostly  morphine,  which  she  had 
give  me  to  ward  oif  a  'tackt  o'  the  neuraligy  she 
see  approaching  and  here  I  had  been  tryin'  to  live 
up  to  the  requirements  of  quinine,  an'  wrastlin'  se 
vere  with  a  sleepy  spell,  which,  ef  I'd  only  knew 
it,  would  o'  saved  me.  Of  co'se,  after  the  second 
dose-t,  which  I  swallered,  I  jest  let  nature  take  its 
co'se,  an'  treckly  I  commenced  to  doze  off,  an' 
seemed  like  I  was  a  feather-bed  an' wife  had  hung 
me  on  the  fence  to  sun,  an'  I  remember  how  she 
seemed  to  be  a-whuppin'  of  me,  but  it  didn't  hurt. 
Of  co'se  nothin'  couldn't  hurt  me  an'  me  all  be 
numbed  with  morphine.  An'  I  s'pose  what  put 
the  feather-bed  in  my  heai  was  on  account  of  it 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

bein'  goose-pickin'  time,  an'  she  was  werrited  with 
windy  weather,  an5  she  tryin'  to  fill  the  feather- 
beds.  No,  I  won't  never  try  to  deceive  her  ag'in. 
It  never  has  seemed  to  me  thet  she  could  have 
the  same  respect  for  me  after  ketchin'  me  at  it, 
though  she  'ain't  never  referred  to  it  but  once-t, 
an'  that  was  the  time  I  was  elected  deacon,  an' 
even  then  she  didn't  do  it  outspoke.  She  seemed 
mighty  tender  over  it,  an'  didn't  no  mo'n  re 
mind  me  thet  a  officer  in  a  Christian  church 
ought  to  examine  hisself  mighty  conscientious 
an'  be  sure  he  was  free  of  deceit,  which,  seemed 
to  me,  showed  a  heap  o'  consideration.  She 
'ain't  got  a  deceitful  bone  in  her  body,  doctor." 

"  Why,  bless  her  old  soul,  Enoch,  you  know 
thet  I  think  the  world  an'  all  o'  Grandma  Gregg ! 
She's  the  salt  o'  the  earth — an'  rock-salt  at  that. 
She's  saved  too  many  o'  my  patients  by  her  good 
nursin',  in  spite  o'  my  poor  doctorin',  for  me  not 
to  appreciate  her.  But  that  don't  reconcile  me 
to  the  way  she  doses  you  for  her  worries." 

"  It  took  me  a  long  time  to  see  that  myself, 
doctor.  But  I've  reasoned  it  out  this  a-way  :  I 
s'pose  when  she  feels  her  temper  a-risin'  she's 
'feerd  thet  she  might  be  so  took  up  with  her 
troubles  thet  she'd  neglect  my  health,  an'  so  she 
wards  off  any  attackt  thet  might  be  comin'  on.  L 
99 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

taken  notice  that  time  her  strawberry  preserves 
all  soured  on  her  hands,  an'  she  painted  my  face 
with  iodine,  a  man  did  die  o'  the  erysipelas  down 
here  at  Battle  Creek,  an'  likely  ez  not  she'd  heerd 
of  it.  Sir  ?  No,  I  didn't  mention  it  at  the  time 
for  fear  she'd  think  best  to  lay  on  another  coat, 
an'  I  felt  sort  o'  disfiggured  with  it.  Wife  ain't 
a  scoldin'  woman,  I'm  thankful  for  that.  An' 
some  o'  the  peppermints  an'  things  she  keeps  to 
dole  out  to  me  when  she's  fretted  with  little 
things — maybe  her  yeast  '11  refuse  to  rise,  or  a 
thunder-storm  '11  kill  a  settin'  of  eggs — why, 
they're  so  disguised  thet  'cep'n  thet  I  knoiv  they're 
medicine — " 

"Well,  Kitty,  I  reckon  we  better  be  a-goinV* 
The  doctor  tapped  his  horse.  "  Be  shore  to  give 
my  love  to  grandma,  Enoch.  An'  ef  you're 
bound  to  take  that  pill — of  co'se  I  can't  no  mo'n 
speculate  about  it  at  this  distance,  but  I'd  advise 
you  to  keep  clear  o'  sours  an'  acids  for  a  day  or 
so.  Don't  think,  because  your  teeth  are  adjust 
able,  thet  none  o'  yore  other  functions  ain't  open 
to  salivation.  Good-night,  Enoch." 

"  Oh,  she  always  looks  after  that,  doctor.  She's 
mighty  attentive,  come  to  withholdin'  harmful 
temptations.    Good-bye,  doctor.    It's  did  me  good 
to  open  my  mind  to  you  a  little. 
100 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

"Yas,"  he  added,  looking  steadily  into  his 
palm  as  the  buggy  rolled  away — "yas,  it's  did  me 
good  to  talk  to  him  ;  but  I  ain't  no  more  recon 
ciled  to  you,,  you  barefaced,,  high  -  foreheaded 
little  roly-poly,  you.  Funny  how  a  pill  thet 
'ain't  got  a  feature  on  earth  can  look  me  out  o' 
countenance  the  way  it  can,  and  frustrate  my 
speech.  Talk  about  whited  sepulchures,  an'  rav- 
enin'  wolves  !  I  don't  know  how  come  I  to  let 
on  thet  I  was  feelin'  puny  to-night,  nohow.  I 
might  've  knew — with  all  them  clo'es  bedaubled 
over — though  I  can't,  ez  the  doctor  says,  see  how 
me  a-takin'  a  pill  is  goin'  to  help  matters — but  of 
co'se  I  wouldn't  let  on  to  him,  an'  he  a  bache 
lor." 

He  stopped  talking  and  felt  his  wrist. 

"  Maybe  my  pulse  is  obstropulous,  an'  ought 
to  be  sedated  down.  Reckon  I'll  haf  to  kill 
that  steer — or  sell  him,  one — though  I  swo'e  I 
wouldn't.  But  of  co'se  I  swo'e  that  in  a  temper, 
an'  temp'rate  vows  ain't  never  made  'cep'in'  to  be 
repented  of." 

Several  times  during  the  last  few  minutes, 
while  the  deacon  spoke,  there  had  come  to  him 
across  the  garden  from  the  kitchen  the  unmis 
takable  odor  of  fried  chicken. 

He  had  foreseen  that  there  would  be  a  good 
101 


MOEIAH'S     MOURNING 

supper  to-night,  and  that  the  tiny  globule  with 
in  his  palm  would  constitute  for  him  a  prohibi 
tion  concerning  it. 

Grandmother  Gregg  was  one  of  those  worthy 
if  difficult  women  who  never  let  anything  inter 
fere  with  her  duty  as  she  saw  it  magnified  by  the 
lenses  of  pain  or  temper.  It  usually  pleased  her 
injured  mood  to  make  waffles  on  wash-day,  and 
the  hen  -  house  owed  many  renovations,  with  a 
reckless  upsetting  of  nests  and  roosts,  to  one  of 
her  "  splittin'  headaches."  She  would  often 
wash  her  hair  in  view  of  impending  company,  al 
though  she  averred  that  to  wet  her  scalp  never 
failed  to  bring  on  the  "neuraligy."  And  her 
"neuraligy"  in  turn  meant  medicine  for  the 
deacon. 

It  was  probably  the  doctor's  timely  advice, 
augmented,  possibly,  by  the  potencies  of  the 
frying-pan,  with  a  strong  underlying  sympathy 
with  the  worrying  woman  within  —  it  was,  no 
doubt,  all  these  powers  combined  that  suddenly 
surprised  the  hitherto  complying  husband  into 
such  unprecedented  conduct  that  any  one  know 
ing  him  in  his  old  character,  and  seeing  him  now, 
would  have  thought  that  he  had  lost  his  mind. 

With  a  swift  and  brave  fling  he  threw  the  pill 
far  into  the  night.  Then,  in  an  access  of  energy 
102 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

born  of  internal  panic,  he  slid  nimbly  from  his 
perch  and  started  in  a  steady  jog-trot  into  the 
road,  wiping  away  the  tears  as  he  went,  and  stam 
mering  between  sobs  as  he  stumbled  over  the 
ruts  : 

"  No,  I  won't— yas,  I  will,  too — doggone  shame, 
and  she  frettin'  her  life  out — of  co'se  I  will — I'll 
sell  'im  for  anything  he'll  fetch — an'  I'll  be  a 
better  man,  yas,  yas  I  will — but  I  won't  swaller 
another  one  o'  them  blame — not  ef  I  die  for  it." 

This  report,  taken  in  long-hand  by  an  amused 
listener  by  the  road-side,  is  no  doubt  incomplete 
in  its  ejaculatory  form,  but  it  has  at  least  the 
value  of  accuracy,  so  far  as  it  goes,  which  may  be 
had  only  from  a  verbatim  transcript. 

It  was  perhaps  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later 
when  Enoch  entered  the  kitchen,  wiping  his 
face,  nervous,  weary,  embarrassed.  Supper  was 
on  the  table.  The  blue-bordered  dish,  heaped 
with  side  bones  and  second  joints  done  to  a  turn, 
was  moved  to  a  side  station,  while  in  its  accus 
tomed  place  before  Enoch's  plate  there  sat  an 
ominous  bowl  of  gruel.  The  old  man  did  not 
look  at  the  table,  but  he  saw  it  all.  He  would 
have  realized  it  with  his  eyes  shut.  Domestic 
history,  as  well  as  that  of  greater  principalities 
and  powers,  often  repeats  itself. 
103 


MORIAITS    MOURNING 

Enoch's  fingers  trembled  as  he  came  near  his 
wife,  and  standing  with  his  back  to  the  table, 
began  to  untie  a  broad  flat  parcel  that  he  had 
brought  in  under  his  arm.  She  paused  in  one 
of  her  trips  between  the  table  and  stove,  and  re 
garded  him  askance. 

"  Reckon  I'll  haf  to  light  the  lantern  befo'  I 
set  down  to  eat,  wife,"  he  said,  by  way  of  intro 
duction.  "Isrul  '11  be  along  d'rec'ly  to  rope 
that  steer.  Fve  done  sold  him."  The  good 
woman  laid  her  dish  upon  the  table  and  re 
turned  to  the  stove. 

"  Pity  you  hadn't  V  sold  'im  day  befo'  yester 
day.  I'd  V  had  a  heap  less  pain  in  my  shoulder- 
blade."  She  sniffed  as  she  said  it ;  and  then 
she  added,  "  That  gruel  ought  to  be  e't  warm." 

By  this  time  the  parcel  was  open.  There  was 
a  brief  display  of  colored  zephyrs  and  gleaming 
card -board.  Then  Enoch  began  re-wrapping 
them. 

' '  Reckon  you  can  look  these  over  in  the  morn- 
in',  wife.  They're  jest  a  few  new  cross-stitch 
Bible  texts,  an'  I  knowed  you  liked  Scripture 
motters.  Where'll  I  lay  'em,  wife,  while  I  go 
out  an'  tend  to  lightin'  that  lantern  ?  I  told 
Isrul  I'd  set  it  in  the  stable  door  so's  he  could 
git  tha-t  steer  out  o'  the  way  immejate." 
104 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

The  proposal  to  lay  the  mottoes  aside  was  a 
master-stroke. 

The  aggrieved  wife  had  already  begun  to  wipe 
her  hands  on  her  apron.  Still,  she  would  not 
seem  too  easily  appeased. 

"  I  do  hope  you  'ain't  gone  an'  turned  that 
whole  steer  into  perforated  paper,  Enoch,  even 
ef  'tis  Bible-texted  over." 

Thus  she  guarded  her  dignity.  But  even  as 
she  spoke  she  took  the  parcel  from  his  hands. 
This  was  encouragement  enough.  It  presaged 
a  thawing  out.  And  after  Enoch  had  gone  out 
to  light  the  lantern,  it  would  have  amused  a 
sympathetic  observer  to  watch  her  gradual  melt 
ing  as  she  looked  over  the  mottoes  : 

"  A   VIRTUOUS  WIFE   IS   FAB   ABOVE   RUBIES." 


"BETTER  A    DIKKER   OF   HERBS   WHERE   LOVE 

IS—" 

She  read  them  over  and  over.  Then  she  laid 
them  aside  and  looked  at  Enoch's  plate.  Then 
she  looked  at  the  chicken-dish,  and  now  at  the 
bowl  of  gruel  which  she  had  carefully  set  on  the 
back  of  the  stove  to  keep  warm. 

"  Don't  know  ez  it  would  hurt  'im  any  ef  I'd 
105 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

thicken  that  gruel  up  into  mush.  He's  took 
sech  a  distaste  to  soft  food  sense  he's  got  that 
new  set." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  poured  the  grnel  back 
into  the  pot,  sifted  and  mixed  a  spoonful  of 
meal  and  stirred  it  in.  This  done,  she  hesi 
tated,  glanced  at  the  pile  of  mottoes,  and  re 
flected.  Then  with  a  sudden  resolve  she  seized 
the  milk-pitcher,  filled  a  cup  from  it,  poured 
the  milk  into  the  little  pot  of  mush,  hastily 
whipped  up  two  eggs  with  some  sugar,  added 
the  mixture  to  the  pot,  returned  the  whole  to 
the  yellow  bowl,  and  set  it  in  the  oven  to  brown. 

And  just  then  Enoch  came  in,  and  approached 
the  water-shelf. 

' '  Don't  keer  how  you  polish  it,  a  brass  lantern 
an'  coal  ile  is  like  murder  on  a  man's  hands.  It 
will  out." 

He  was  thinking  of  the  gruel,  and  putting  off 
the  evil  hour.  It  had  been  his  intention  to  bold 
ly  announce  that  he  hadn't  taken  his  medicine, 
that  he  never  would  again  unless  he  needed  it, 
and,  moreover,  that  he  was  going  to  eat  his  sup 
per  to-night,  and  always,  as  long  as  God  should 
spare  him,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

But  he  had  no  sooner  found  himself  in  the 
presence  of  long-confessed  superior  powers  than 
106 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

he  knew  that  he  would  never  do  any  of  these 
things. 

His  wife  was  thinking  of  the  gruel  too  when  she 
encouraged  delay  by  remarking  that  he  would 
better  rest  up  a  bit  before  eating, 

"  And  I  reckon  you  better  soak  yo'  hands  good. 
Take  a  pinch  o'  that  bran  out  o'  the  safe  to  'em," 
she  added,  "and  ef  that  don't  do,  the  Floridy 
water  is  in  on  my  bureau." 

When  finally  Enoch  presented  himself,  ready 
for  his  fate,  she  was  able  to  set  the  mush  pud 
ding,  done  to  a  fine  brown,  before  him,  and  her 
tone  was  really  tender  as  she  said  : 

"  This  ain't  very  hearty  ef  you're  hungry  ;  but 
you  can  eat  it  all.  There  ain't  no  interference 
in  it  with  anything  you've  took." 

The  pudding  was  one  of  Enoch's  favorite  dish 
es,  but  as  he  broke  its  brown  surface  with  his 
spoon  he  felt  like  a  hypocrite.  He  took  one  long 
breath,  and  then  he  blurted  : 

"  By-the-way,  wife,  this  reminds  me,  I  reckon 
you'll  haf  to  fetch  me  another  o'  them  pills.  I 
dropped  that  one  out  in  the  grass — that  is,  ef  you 
think  I  still  stand  in  need  of  it.  I  feel  consid- 
er'ble  better'n  I  did  when  I  come  in  this  eveninV 

The  good  woman  eyed  him  suspiciously  a  min 
ute.  Then  here  eyes  fell  upon  the  words  "  ABOVE 
107 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

KUBIES  "  lying  upon  the  table.  Reaching  over, 
she  lifted  the  pudding-bowl  aside,  took  the  dish 
of  fried  chicken  from  its  sub-station,  and  set  it 
before  her  lord. 

(i  Better  save  that  puddV  for  dessert,  honey, 
an'  help  yo'self  to  some  o'  that  chicken,  an'  take 
a  potater  an7  a  roll,  and  eat  a  couple  o'  them 
spring  onions  —  they're  the  first  we've  had. 
Sence  you're  a-feelin'  better,  maybe  it's  jest  ez 
well  thet  you  mislaid  that  pill." 

The  wind  blows  sometimes  from  the  east  in 
Simkinsville,  as  elsewhere,  and  there  are  still  oc 
casional  days  when  the  deacon  betakes  himself 
to  the  front  gate  and  sits  like  a  nineteenth-cen 
tury  Simon  Stilites  on  his  pillar,  contemplating 
the  open  palm  of  his  own  hand,  while  he  enrich 
es  Mrs.  Frequent's  repertoire  of  gossip  by  a  pict 
uresque  item. 

But  the  reverse  of  the  picture  has  much  of  joy 
in  it ;  for,  in  spite  of  her  various  tempers,  Grand 
mother  Gregg  is  a  warm-hearted  soul — and  she 
loves  her  man.  And  he  loves  her. 

Listen  to  him  to-night,  for  instance,  as,  hav 
ing  finished  his  supper,  he  remarks  : 

"  An'  I'm  a  -  goin'  to  see  to  it,  from  this  on, 
thet  you  ain't  fretted  with  things  ez  you've  been, 
108 


THE    DEACON'S    MEDICINE 

ef  I  can  help  it,  wife.  Sometimes,  the  way  I  act, 
I  seem  like  ez  ef  I  forgit  you're  all  Fve  got — on 
earth." 

"  Of  co'se  I  reelize  that,  Enoch,"  she  replies. 
"  We're  each  one  all  the  other's  got — an'  that's 
why  I  don't  spare  no  pains  to  keep  you  in 
health." 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  LEISUKE 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  LEISUKE 


ONE  could  see  at  a  glance  that  they  were 
gentlemen  as  they  strolled  leisurely  along, 
side  by  side,  through  Madison  Square,  on 
Christmas  morning. 

A  certain  subtle  charm — let  us  call  it  a  digni 
fied  aimlessness — hung  about  them  like  an  easy 
garment,  labelling  them  as  mild  despisers  of 
ambitions,  of  goals,  of  destinations,  of  conven 
tionalities. 

The  observer  who  passed  from  casual  contem 
plation  of  their  unkempt  locks  to  a  closer  scrutiny 
perceived,  even  in  passing  them,  that  their  shoes 
were  not  mates,  while  the  distinct  bagging  at  the 
knees  of  their  trousers  was  somewhat  too  high  in 
one  case,  and  too  low  in  the  other,  to  encompass 
the  knees  within  which  were  slowly,  but  surely, 
gaining  tardy  secondary  recognitions  at  points 
more  or  less  remote  from  the  first  impressions. 
H  113 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

One  pair  was  a  trifle  short  in  the  legs,  while 
the  other — they  of  the  too-low  knee-marks — were 
turned  up  an  inch  or  two  above  the  shoes  :  a  style 
which  in  itself  may  seem  to  savor  of  affectation, 
and  yet,  taken  with  the  wearer  on  this  occasion, 
dispelled  suspicion. 

It  seemed  rather  a  cold  day  to  sit  on  a  bench 
in  Madison  Square,  and  yet  our  two  gentlemen, 
after  making  a  casual  tour  of  the  walks,  sat  easi 
ly  down  ;  and,  indeed,  though  passers  hurried  by 
in  heavy  top-coats  and  furs,  it  seemed  quite  nat 
ural  that  these  gentlemen  should  be  seated. 

One  or  two  others,  differing  more  or  less  as  in 
dividuals  from  our  friends,  but  evidently  mem 
bers  of  the  same  social  caste,  broadly  speaking, 
were  also  sitting  in  the  square,  apparently  as  ob 
livious  to  the  cold  as  they. 

"The  hardest  thing  to  bear,"  the  taller  one, 
he  of  the  short  trousers,  was  saying,  as  he  dropped 
his  shapely  wrist  over  the  iron  arm  of  the  bench, 
"  the  hardest  thing  for  the  individual,  under  the 
present  system,  is  the  arbitrariness  of  the  assign 
ments  of  life.  The  chief  advantage  of  the  Bellamy 
scheme  seems  to  me  to  be  in  its  harmonious  ad 
justments,  so  to  speak.  Every  man  does  profes 
sionally  what  he  can  best  do.  If  you  and  I  had 
been  reared  under  that  system,  now-—" 
U4 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    LEISURE 

"  What,  think  you,  would  Bellamy  the  proph 
et  have  made  of  you,  Humphrey  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  his  government  would  have  taken 
pains  to  discover  and  develop  my  tendency,  my 
drift—" 

"  Ah,  I  see.  I  should  judge  that  nature  had 
endowed  you  with  a  fine  bump  of  drift,  Hum 
phrey.  But  has  it  not  been  rather  well  cared 
for  ?  The  trouble  with  drifting  is,  so  say  the 
preachers,  that  it  necessarily  carries  one  down 
stream." 

"To  the  sea,  the  limitless,  the  boundless, 
the  ultimatum— however,  this  is  irrelevant  and 
frivolous.  I  am  serious — and  modest,  I  assure 
yon — when  I  speak  of  my  gifts.  I  have,  as  you 
know,  a  pronounced  gift  at  repartee.  Who  knows 
what  this  might  have  become  under  proper  de 
velopment  ?  But  it  has  been  systematically 
snubbed,  misunderstood,  dubbed  impertinence, 
forsooth." 

"If  I  remember  aright,  it  was  your  gift  of 
repartee  that  —  wasn't  it  something  of  that  sort 
which  severed  your  connection  with  college  ?" 

"Yes,  and  here  I  am.  That's  where  the  shoe 
pinches.  Ha  !  and  by  way  of  literal  illustra 
tion,  speaking  of  the  mal- adjustments  of  life, 
witness  this  boot." 

115 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

The  speaker  languidly  extended  his  right  foot. 

"The  fellow  who  first  wore  it  had  bunions, 
blast  him,  and  I  come  into  his  bunion -bulge 
with  a  short  great  toe.  As  a  result,  here  I  am 
in  New  York  in  December,  instead  of  absorbing 
sunshine  and  the  odor  of  violets  in  Jackson 
Square  in  New  Orleans,  with  picturesqueness 
and  color  all  about  me.  No  man  could  start 
South  with  such  a  boot  as  that. 

"  I  do  most  cordially  hope  that  the  beastly  vul 
garian  who  shaped  it  has  gone,  as  my  friend  Man- 
talini  would  express  it,  'to  the  demnition  bow 
wows/  You  see  the  beauty  of  the  Bellamy 
business  is  that  all  callings  are  equally  worthy. 
As  a  social  factor  I  should  have  made  a  record, 
and  would  probably  have  gone  into  history  as  a 
wit." 

"  Condemn  the  history  !  You'd  have  gone 
into  life,  Humphrey.  That's  enough.  You'd 
have  gone  into  the  home — into  your  own  bed  at 
night — into  dinner  in  a  dress-coat — into  society, 
your  element  —  into  posterity  in  your  brilliant 
progeny,  paterfamilias — " 

"  Enough,  Colonel.  There  are  some  things — 
even  from  an  old  comrade  like  yourself — " 

"  Beg  pardon,  Humphrey.  No  offence  meant, 
I  assure  you. 

116 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    LEISURE 

"It's  only  when  life's  fires  are  burning  pretty 
low  that  we  may  venture  to  stir  the  coals  and 
knock  off  the  ashes  a  little. 

"  For  myself,  I  don't  mind  confessing,  Hum 
phrey,  that  there  have  been  women —  Don't  start ; 
there  isn't  even  a  Yule-log  smouldering  on  my 
heart's  hearth  to-day.  I  can  stir  the  smoking 
embers  safely.  I  say  there  have  been  women — a 
woman  I'll  say,  even — a  nursemaid,  whom  I  have 
seen  in  this  park — a  perfect  Juno.  She  was  well 
born  I'd  swear,  by  her  delicate  ears,  her  instep, 
her  curved  nostrils — " 

"Did  you  ever  approach  your  goddess  near 
enough  to  catch  her  curved  articulation,  Colonel  ? 
Or  doubtless  it  flowed  in  angles,  Anglo-Saxon 
pura." 

"  You  are  flippant,  Humphrey.  I  say  if  this 
woman  had  had  educational  advantages  and — and 
if  my  affairs  had  looked  up  a  little,  well — there's 
no  telling  !  And  yet,  to  tell  you  this  to  -  day 
does  not  even  warm  my  heart." 

"  Nor  rattle  a  skeleton  within  its  closet  ?" 

"  Not  a  rattle  about  me,  sir,  excepting  the  rat 
tle  of  these  beastly  newspapers  on  my  chest. 
Have  a  smoke,  Humphrey  ?" 

The  Colonel  presented  a  handful  of  half -burned 
cigar-stubs. 

m 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"No  choice.  They're  all  twenty-five-centers, 
assorted  from  a  Waldorf  lot." 

"Thanks." 

Humphrey  took  three.  The  Colonel,  reserv 
ing  one  for  his  own  use,  dropped  the  rest  into 
his  outer  pocket. 

And  now  eleven  men  passed,  smoking,  eleven 
unapproachables,  before  one  dropped  a  burning 
stump. 

As  Humphrey  rose  and  strode  indolently  for 
ward  to  secure  the  fragment,  there  was  a  certain 
courtliness  about  the  man  that  even  a  pair  of 
short  trousers  could  not  disguise.  It  was  the 
same  which  constrains  us  to  write  him  down  Sir 
Humphrey. 

"  I  never  appropriate  the  warmth  of  another 
man's  lips,"  said  he,  as,  having  first  presented 
the  light  to  his  friend,  he  lit  a  fragment  for  him 
self.  Then,  pressing  out  the  fire  of  the  last  ac 
quisition,  he  laid  it  beside  him  to  cool  before 
adding  it  to  his  store. 

"Nor  I,"  responded  the  Colonel — "at  least,  I 
never  did  but  once.  I  happened  to  be  walking 
behind  General  Grant,  and  he  dropped  a  smok 
ing  stub — " 

"  Which  you  took  for  Granted—" 

"If  you  will,  yes.  It  was  a  bit  sentimental,  I 
U8 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    LEISURE 

know,  but  I  rather  enjoyed  placing  it  warm  from 
his  lips  to  mine.  It  was  to  me  a  sort  of  calumet, 
a  pipe  of  peace,  for  rebel  that  I  was,  and  arn,  I 
always  respected  Grant.  Then,  too,  I  fancied 
that  I  might  deceive  the  fragment  into  surren 
dering  its  choicest  aroma  to  me,  since  I  surprised 
it  in  the  attitude  of  surrender,  and  I  believe  it 
did/1 

"Sentimental  dog  that  you  are  I"  said  Sir 
Humphrey,  smiling,  as  he  inserted  the  remain 
ing  bit  of  his  cigar  into  an  amber  tip  and  re 
turned  it  to  his  lips. 

"  You  have  never  disclosed  to  me,  Humphrey, 
where  you  procured  that  piece  of  bric-a-brac  ?" 

"  Haven't  I  ?  That  is  because  of  my  Bos- 
tonian  reticence.  No  secret,  I  assure  you.  I 
found  it,  sir,  in  the  lining  of  this  coat.  The  fair 
donor  of  this  spacious  garment  on  one  occasion, 
at  least,  gave  a  tip  to  a  beggar  unawares." 

"Exceptional  woman.  Seems  to  me  the  ex 
ceptional  beggar  would  have  returned  the  arti 
cle." 

"  Exceptional  case.  Didn't  find  the  tip  for  a 
month.  I  was  in  Mobile  at  the  time.  I  should 
have  written  my  benefactress  had  stationary 
been  available  and  had  I  known  her  name. 
When  I  returned  to  New  York  in  the  spring 
119 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

there  was  a  placard  on  the  house.  Otherwise  I 
should  have  restored  the  tip,  and  trusted  to  her 
courtesy  for  the  reward  of  virtue." 

"You  have  forgotten  that  that  commodity  is 
its  own  reward  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  the  only  reward  it  ever  gets,  as  a 
New  Orleans  wit  once  remarked.  Hence,  here  we 
are.  However,  returning  to  my  fair  benefactress, 
I  haven't  much  opinion  of  her.  Any  woman  who 
would  mend  her  husband's  coat-sleeve  with  glue 
— look  at  this  !  First  moist  spell,  away  it  went. 
Worst  of  it  was  I  happened  to  have  no  garment 
under  it  at  the  time.  However,  the  incident  se 
cured  me  quite  a  handsome  acquisition  of  linen. 
Happened  to  run  against  a  clever  little  tub- 
shaped  woman  whose  ample  bosom,  I  take  it,  was 
ordered  especially  for  the  accommodation  of  as 
sorted  sympathies.  She,  perceiving  my  azure- 
veined  elbow,  invited  me  to  the  dispensing-room 
of  the  I.  0.  U.  Society,  of  which  she  was  a  mem 
ber,  and  presented  me  with  a  roll  of  garments, 
and — would  you  believe  it  ? — there  wasn't  a  tract 
or  leaflet  in  the  bundle — and  as  to  my  soul,  she 
never  mentioned  the  abstraction  to  me.  Now, 
that  is  what  I  call  Christianity.  However,  I  may 
come  across  a  motto  somewhere,  yet.  Of  course, 
at  my  first  opportunity,  I  put  on  those  shirts 
130 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    LEISURE 

— one  to  wear,  and  the  other  three  to  carry. 
So  Fve  given  them  only  a  cursory  examination 
thus  far." 

"  Which  one  do  you  consider  yourself  wear 
ing,  Humphrey,  and  which  do  you  carry  ?" 

"  I  wear  the  outside  one,  of  course — and  carry 
the  others." 

"  Do  you,  indeed  ?  Well,  now,  if  I  were  in  the 
situation,  I  should  feel  that  I  was  wearing  the 
one  next  my  body  —  and  carrying  the  other 
three." 

"That's  because  you  are  an  egotist  and  can't 
project  yourself.  I  have  the  power  the  giftie 
gi'e  me,  and  see  myself  as  others  see  me.  How's 
that  for  quick  adaptation  ?" 

"  Quite  like  you.  If  the  Scotch  poet  had  not 
been  at  your  elbow  with  his  offering,  no  doubt 
you'd  have  originated  something  quite  as  good. 
So  you  may  be  at  this  moment  absorbing  con 
densed  theology,  nolens  volens." 

"For  aught  I  know,  yes,  under  my  armpits. 
However,  I  sha'n't  object,  just  so  the  dogmas 
don't  crowd  out  my  morals.  My  moral  rectitude 
is  the  one  inheritance  I  proudly  retain.  I've 
never  sold  myself— to  anybody." 

"Nor  your  vote?" 

"  Nor  my  vote.  True,  I  have  accepted  trilling 
121 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

gratuities  on  election  occasions ;  but  they  never 
affected  my  vote.  I  should  have  voted  the  same 
way,  notwithstanding." 

(<  Well,  sir,  I  am  always  persuaded  to  accept  a 
bonus  on  such  occasions  for  abstaining.  I  have 
been  under  pay  from  both  parties,  each  suspect 
ing  me  of  standing  with  the  opposition.  Need 
less  to  say,  I  have  religiously  kept  my  contract. 
I  never  vote.  It  involves  too  much  duplicity  for 
a  man  of  my  profession." 

"Not  necessarily.  I  resided  comfortably  for 
quite  a  period  in  the  basement  of  the  dwelling 
of  a  certain  political  leader  in  this  metropolis, 
once.  He  wished  to  have  me  register  for  his 
butler,  but  I  stickled  for  private  secretary,  and 
private  secretary  I  was  written,  sir,  though  I 
discovered  later  that  the  rogue  had  registered 
me  as  secretary  to  his  coachman.  However,  the 
latter  was  the  better  man  of  the  two — dropped 
his  h's  so  fast  that  his  master  seemed  to  feel 
constrained  to  send  everything  to  H —  for  re 
pairs." 

"What  else  could  you  expect  for  a  man  of 


"  By  thunder,  Humphrey,  that's  not  bad.  But 
do  you  see,  by  yon  clock,  that  the  dinner-hour 
approacheth  ?" 

122 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    LEISURE 

The  Colonel  took  from  his  waistcoat -pocket 
two  bits  of  paper. 

"Somehow,  I  miss  Irving  to-day.  There's 
nothing  Irving  enjoyed  so  much  as  a  free  dinner- 
ticket.  I  see  the  X.  Y.  Z/s  are  to  entertain  us 
at  1  P.M.,  and  the  K.  R.  G-.'s  at  4." 

Sir  Humphrey  produced  two  similar  checks. 

"Well,  sir,  were  Irving  here  to-day  Fd  will 
ingly  present  him  with  this  Presbyterian  chip. 
There  are  some  things  to  which  I  remain  sensi 
tive,  and  I  look  this  ticket  in  the  face  with  mis 
givings.  It  means  being  elbowed  by  a  lot  of 
English-slaying  mendicants  in  a  motto-bedecked 
saloon,  where  every  bite  at  the  Presbyterian  fowl 
seems  a  confession  of  faith  that  that  particular 
gobbler,  or  hen,  as  the  case  may  be,  was  fore 
ordained,  before  the  beginning  of  time,  to  be 
chewed  by  yourself — or  eschewed,  should  you 
decline  it.  Somehow  theology  takes  the  zest 
out  of  the  cranberries  for  me.  However,  do 


"  Well,  sir,  I  am  a  philosopher,  and  so  was  Irv 
ing.  Poor  Irving  !  He  was  never  quite  square. 
It  was  he,  you  know,  who  perpetrated  that  fa 
mous  roach  fraud  that  went  the  rounds  of  the 
press.  Fve  seen  him  do  it.  He  would  enter  a 
restaurant,  order  a  dinner,  and,  just  before  fin- 
123 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

ishing,  discover  a  huge  roach,  a  Croton  bug, 
floating  in  his  plate.  Of  course  the  insects  were 
his  own  contribution,  but  the  fellow  had  a  knack 
of  introducing  them.  He  could  slip  a  specimen 
into  his  omelette  souffle,  for  instance,  dexterous 
ly  slicing  it  in  half  with  his  knife,  with  a  pressure 
that  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  The  interloper, 
compactly  imbedded,  immediately  imparted  such 
an  atmosphere  to  his  vicinity  that  even  the  cook 
would  have  sworn  he  was  baked  in.  I  blush  to 
say  I  was  Irving's  guest  on  one  such  occasion." 

' ( And  Sir  Roach  paid  for  both  dinners  ?" 

"  Bless  you,  yes.  Sir  Roach,  F.R.S.  (fried, 
roasted,  or  stewed).  Indeed,  his  hospitality  did 
not  end  here.  We  were  pressed  to  call  again, 
and  begged  not  to  mention  the  incident.  Of 
course,  this  was  in  our  more  prosperous  days,  be 
fore  either  of  us  had  taken  on  the  stamp  of  our 
exclusiveness.  Even  Irving  would  hesitate  to  try 
it  now,  I  fancy. " 

"  Poor  Irving  !  A  good  fellow,  but  morally 
insane.  In  Baton  Rouge  now,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Yes.  He  changed  overcoats  with  a  gentle 
man. 

"  I  wonder  how  the  cooking  is  in  that  State 
institution,  Humphrey  ?  Irving  is  such  an  epi- 


134 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    LEISURE 

"Oh,  he's  faring  well  enough,  doubtless. 
Trust  those  Louisianians  for  cookery.  When 
Irving  is  in  New  Orleans  there  are  special  houses 
where  he  drops  in  on  Fridays,  just  for  court- 
bouillon.  I've  known  him  to  weed  a  bed  of  gera 
niums  rather  than  miss  it." 

"  Such  are  the  vicissitudes  of  pedestrianism. 
Well,  tempus  fugit ;  let  us  be  going.  We  have 
just  an  hour  to  reach  our  dining-hall.  Here  come 
the  crowd  from  church.  The  Christmas  service 
is  very  beautiful.  Do  you  recall  it,  Humphrey  ?" 

"  Only  in  spots — like  the  varioloid." 

They  were  quite  in  the  crowd  now,  and  so 
ceased  speaking,  and  presently  the  Colonel  was 
considerably  in  advance  of  his  companion.  So  it 
happened  that  he  did  not  see  Humphrey  stop  a 
moment,  put  his  foot  on  a  bit  of  green  paper, 
drop  his  handkerchief,  and  in  recovering  it  gather 
the  crumpled  bill  into  it. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  when  Sir  Humphrey 
overtook  his  friend,  and,  tapping  him  upon  the 
shoulder,  invited  him  to  follow  him  into  a  fa 
mous  saloon,  the  Colonel  raised  his  eyes  in  mild 
surprise. 

Sir  Humphrey  paid  for  the  drinks  with  a  ten- 
dollar  note,  and  then  the  two  proceeded  to  the 
side  door  of  a  well-known  restaurant. 
125 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  Private  dining  -  room,  please,"  he  said,  and 
he  dropped  a  quarter  into  the  hands  of  the  ser 
vant  at  the  door  as  he  led  the  way. 

It  was  two  hours  later  when,  having  cast  up 
his  account  from  the  bill  of  fare,  Sir  Humphrey, 
calling  for  cigars,  said  :  ( '  Help  yourself,  Colonel. 
If  my  arithmetic  is  correct,  we  shall  enjoy  our 
smoke,  have  a  half  dollar  for  the  waiter,  and  en 
ter  the  Square  with  a  whole  cigar  apiece  in  our 
breast  pockets  —  at  peace  with  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  his  Satanic  majesty.  Allow  me  to  give 
you  a  light/' 

He  handed  the  Colonel  one  of  the  free  dinner- 
tickets  of  the  X.  Y.  Z.  Society. 

"The  Presbyterian  blue -light  I  reserve  for 
my  own  use.  Witness  it  burn. 

"  Well,  Colonel,  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  your 
dinner?" 

"Thoroughly,  sir,  thoroughly.  This  is  one 
of  the  many  occasions  in  my  life,  Humphrey, 
when  I  rejoice  in  my  early  good  breeding. 
Were  it  not  for  that,  I  should  feel  constrained 
to  inquire  whom  you  throttled  and  robbed 
in  crossing  Fifth  Avenue,  two  hours  ago,  dur 
ing  the  forty  seconds  when  my  back  was 
turned." 

126 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF    LEISURE 

"  And  my  pious  rearing  would  compel  me  to 
answer,  'No  one/ 

"  The  wherewithal  to  procure  this  Christmas 
dinner  dropped  straight  from  heaven,  Colonel. 
I  saw  it  fall,  and  gratefully  seized  it,  just  in  the 
middle  of  the  crossing." 

"  Thanks.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  help 
ing  myself  to  the  rest  of  the  matches,  Humph 
rey." 

"Quite  thoughtful  of  you.  We'll  use  one 
apiece  for  the  other  cigars.  Do  you  know  I 
really  enjoyed  the  first  half  of  that  smoke.  It 
was  quite  like  renewing  one's  youth." 

And  so,  in  easy  converse,  they  strolled  slowly 
down  Fifth  Avenue. 

As  Sir  Humphrey  hesitated  in  his  walk,  evi 
dently  suffering  discomfort  from  his  right  boot, 
he  presently  remarked  : 

"I  say,  Colonel,  I  think  HI  call  around  to 
morrow  at  a  few  of  my  friends'  houses,  and  see 
if  some  benevolent  housewife  won't  let  me  have 
a  shoe  for  this  right  foot." 

"Or  why  not  try  your  cigar  on  the  ebony 
janitor  of  the  apartment  -  house  across  the 
way.  He  has  access  to  the  trash -boxes,  and 
could  no  doubt  secure  you  a  shoe — maybe  a 
pair." 

127 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  Thanks,  Colonel,  for  the  suggestion,  but 
there  are  a  few  things  I  never  do.  I  never  fly  in 
the  face  of  Providence.  I  shall  smoke  that  cigar 
intact." 

And  they  walked  on. 


THE  KEY.  JOKDAN  WHITE'S 
THKEE  GLANCES 


THE    KEY.   JOKDAN  WHITE'S 
THEEE    GLANCES 


Reverend  Jordan  White,  of  Cold  Spring 
Baptist  Church,  was  so  utterly  destitute 
of  color  in  his  midnight  blackness  of  hue 
as  to  be  considered  the  most  thoroughly  "  col 
ored  "  person  on  Claybank  plantation,  Arkansas. 
That  so  black  a  man  should  have  borne  the 
name  of  White  was  one  of  the  few  of  such  famil 
iar  misfits  to  which  the  world  never  becomes 
insensible  from  familiarity.  From  the  time  when 
Jordan,  a  half-naked  urchin  of  six,  tremblingly 
pronounced  his  name  before  the  principal's  desk 
in  the  summer  free  Claybank  school  to  the  mem 
orable  occasion  of  his  registration  as  an  Afro- 
American  voter,  the  announcement  had  never 
failed  to  evoke  a  smile,  accompanied  many  times 
by  good-humored  pleasantry. 

"Well,  sir,"  so  he  had  often  laughed,    "I 
131 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

reck'n  dey  must  o'  gimme  de  name  o'  White  fur 
a  joke.  But  de  Jordan — I  don'  know,  lessen  dey 
named  me  Jordan  'caze  ev'ybody  was  afeerd  ter 
cross  me.'" 

From  which  it  seems  that  the  surname  was 
not  an  inheritance. 

In  his  clerical  suit  of  black,  with  standing 
collar  and  shirt-front  matched  in  fairness  only 
by  his  marvellously  white  teeth  and  eyeballs, 
Jordan  was  a  most  interesting  study  in  black 
and  white. 

There  were  no  intermediate  shades  about  him. 
Even  his  lips  were  black,  or  of  so  dark  a  purple 
as  to  fail  to  maintain  an  outline  of  color.  They 
looked  black,  too. 

Jordan  was  essentially  ugly,  too,  with  that  pe 
culiar  genius  for  ugliness  which  must  have  in 
spired  the  familiar  saying  current  among  planta 
tion  folk,  "  He's  so  ogly  tell  he's  purty." 

There  is  a  certain  homeliness  of  person,  a 
combined  result  of  type  and  degree,  which  un 
deniably  possesses  a  peculiar  charm,  fascinating 
the  eye  more  than  confessed  beauty  of  a  lesser 
degree  or  more  conventional  form. 

Jordan  was  ugly  in  this  fashion,  and  he  who 
glanced   casually  upon  his  ebony  countenance 
rarely  failed  to  look  again. 
132 


THE   REV.   WHITE'S   THREE   GLANCES 

He  was  a  genius,  too,  in  more  ways  than  one. 

If  nature  gave  him  two  startling  eyes  that 
moved  independently  of  each  other,  Jordan 
made  the  most  of  the  fact,  as  will  be  seen  by 
the  following  confession  made  on  the  occasion 
of  my  questioning  him  as  to  the  secret  of  his 
success  as  a  preacher. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  replied,  "yer  see,  to  begin 
wid :  I  got  three  glances,  an'  dat  gimme  three 
shots  wid  ev'y  argimint. 

"  When  Pm  a  preachin'  I  looks  straight  at  one 
man  an'  lays  his  case  out  so  clair  he  can't  miss 
it,  but,  you  see,  all  de  time  I'm  a-layin'  him  out, 
my  side  glances  is  takin'  in  two  mo'." 

"  But,"  I  protested,  < <  I  should  think  he  whom 
you  are  looking  at  and  describing  in  so  personal 
a  manner  would  get  angry,  and — " 

"  So  he  would,  sir,  if  he  knowed  I  was  lookin' 
at  him.  But  lie  don't  know  it.  You  know,  dat's 
my  third  glance  an7  hit's  my  secret  glance.  You 
see,  if  my  reel  glance  went  straight,  I'd  have  ter 
do  like  de  rest  o'  you  preachers,  look  at  one  man 
while  yer  hittin'  de  man  behin'  'im,  an'  dat's  de 
way  dey  think  I  is  doin',  whiles  all  de  time  I'm 
a  watchin'  'im  wriggle. 

"  Of  cose,  sometimes  I  uses  my  glances  diff'ent 
ways.  Sometimes  I  des  lets  'em  loose  p'omiskyus 
133 


MORIAII'S    MOURNING 

fur  a  while  tell  ev'ybody  see  blue  lightnin'  in  de 
air,  an*  de  mo'ner's  bench  is  full,  an'  when  I  see 
ev'ybody  is  ready  ter  run  fur  'is  life,  of  co'se  I  eases 
up  an'  settles  down  on  whatever  sinner  seem  like 
he's  de  leastest  skeered  tell  I  nails  'im  fast." 

He  hesitated  here  a  moment. 

"De  onies'  trouble,"  he  resumed,  presently. 
"De  onies'  trouble  wid  havin'  mixed  glances  is 
Mat  seem  like  hit  confines  a  man  ter  preach 
wrath. 

"So  long  as  I  tried  preachin'  Heaven,  wid 
golden  streets  an'  harp  music,  I  nuver  fe'ched  in 
a  soul,  but  'cep'n'  sech  as  was  dis  a-waitin'  fur  de 
open  do'  to  come  in.  Dat's  my  onies'  drawback, 
Brer  Jones.  Sometimes  seem  like  when  Heaven 
comes  inter  my  heart  I  does  crave  ter  preach  it 
in  a  song.  Of  cose,  I  does  preach  Heaven  yit, 
but  I  Ueege  ter  preach  itfom  de  Hell  side,  an'  shoo 
'em  in!" 

There  was,  I  thought,  the  suspicion  of  a  twinkle 
lurking  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes  throughout  his 
talk,  but  it  was  too  obscure  for  me  to  venture  to 
interpret  it  by  a  responsive  smile,  and  so  the 
question  was  put  with  entire  seriousness  when  I 
said : 

"And  yet,  Jordan,  didn't  I  hear  something  of 
your  going  to  an  oculist  last  summer  ?" 
134 


'  '  I   DES   LETS  'EM   LOOSE   P'()MISKYUS,  TELL   EV'YBODY   SEE 
BLUE   LIGllTNIJSf'  '  " 


THE  REV.  WHITE'S  THREE  GLANCES 

"  Yas,  sir.  So  I  did.  Dat's  true."  He  laughed 
foolishly  now. 

"  I  did  talk  about  goin'  ter  one  o'  deze  heah 
occular-eye  doctors  las'  summer,,  and  I  went 
once  - t,  but  I  ain't  nuver  toF  nobody,  an'  yon 
mustn't  say  nothin'  'bout  it,  please,  sir. 

"But  yer  see,  sir."  He  lowered  his  voice  here 
to  a  confidential  whisper.  "Yer  see  dat  was 
on  account  o'  de  ladies.  I  was  a  widder-man 
den,  an',  tell  de  trufe,  my  mixed  glances  was 
gettin'  me  in  trouble.  Yer  know  in  dealin' 
wid  de  ladies,  yer  don'  keer  how  many  glances 
yon  got,  yer  wants  ter  nse  'em  one  at  a  time. 
Why  dey  was  a  yaller  lady  np  heah  at  de  cross 
roads  wha'  'blongs  ter  my  church  who  come 
purty  nigh  ter  snein'  me  in  de  co't-house,  all  on 
account  o'  one  o'  my  side  glances,  an'  all  de  time, 
yer  see,  my  reel  glance,  hit  was  settled  on  Mis' 
White,  wha'  sot  in  de  middle  pew — but  in  cose 
she  warn't  Mis'  White  den ;  she  was  de  Widder 
Simpson." 

"  And  so  yon  have  been  recently  married,"  I 
asked  ;  "  and  how  does  yonr  wife  feel  about  the 
matter  ? 

"Well,  yer  see,  sir,"  he  answered,  laughing, 
"she  can't  say  nothin',  'caze  she's  cross-eyed 
'erse'f. 

135 


MOIUAH'S    MOURNING 

"  An'  lemme  tell  you  some'h'n',  boss."  He 
lowered  his  tone  again,  implying  a  fresh  burst  of 
confidence,  while  his  whole  visage  seemed  twink 
ling  with  merriment. 

"  Lemme  tell  yer  some'h'n',  boss.  You  ain't  a 
ma'ied  man,  is  yer  ?" 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  not  married. 

' '  Well,  sir,  I  gwine  gi'e  you  my  advice.  An' 
Fm  a  man  o'  'spe'unce.  I  been  ma'ied  three 
times,  an'  of  cose  I  done  considerable  co'tin'  off'n 
an'  on  wid  all  three,  not  countin'  sech  p'omiskyus 
co'tin'  roun'  as  any  widder  gemman  is  li'ble  ter 
do,  an'  I  gwine  gi'e  you  some  good  advice. 

"  Ef  ever  you  falls  in  love  wid  air  cross-eyed 
lady,  an' craves  ter  co't'er,  you  des  turn  down  de 
lamp  low  'fo'  yer  comes  ter  de  fatal  p'int,  ur  else 
set  out  on  de  po'ch  in  de  fainty  moonlight,  whar 
yer  can't  see  'er  eyes,  caze  dey's  nothin'  puts  a 
co'tin'  man  out,  and  meek  'im  lose  'is  pronouns 
wuss  'n  a  cross-eye.  An'  ef  it  hadn't  o'  been  dat 
/  knowed  what  a  cook  she  was,  tell  de  trufe,  de 
Widder  Simpson's  cross-eye  would  o'  discour'ged 
me  off  entirely. 

"But  now,"  he  continued,  chuckling;  "but 
now  I  done  got  usen  ter  it ;  it's  purty  ter  me — 
seem  like  hit's  got  a  searchin'  glance  dat  goes 
out'n  its  way  ter  fin'  me." 
136 


THE    REV.   WHITE'S   THREE    GLANCES 

Needless  to  say,  I  found  the  old  man  amusing, 
and  when  we  parted  at  the  cross-roads  I  was  quite 
willing  to  promise  to  drop  in  some  time  to  hear 
one  of  his  sermons. 

Although  somewhat  famed  as  a  preacher,  Jor 
dan  had  made  his  record  in  the  pulpit  not  so 
much  on  account  of  any  powers  of  oratory, per  se, 
as  through  a  series  of  financial  achievements. 

During  the  two  years  of  his  ministry  he  had 
built  a  new  church  edifice,  added  the  imposing 
parsonage  which  he  occupied,  and  he  rode  about 
the  country  on  his  pastoral  missions,  mounted  on 
a  fine  bay  horse — all  the  result  of  "volunteer" 
contributions. 

And  Jordan  stood  well  with  his  people;  the 
most  pious  of  his  fold  according  him  their  in 
dorsement  as  heartily  as  they  who  hung  about 
the  outskirts  of  his  congregation,  and  who  in 
deed  were  unconsciously  supplying  the  glamour 
of  his  distinguished  career;  for  the  secret  of 
Jordan's  success  lay  especially  in  his  power  of 
collecting  money  from  sinners.  So  it  came  about 
that,  without  adding  a  farthing  to  their  usual 
donations,  the  saints  reclined  in  cushioned  pews 
and  listened  to  the  words  of  life  from  a  prosper 
ous,  well-fed  preacher,  who  was  manifestly  an 
acceptable  sower  of  vital  seed — seed  which  took 
137 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

root  in  brick  and  mortar,  branched  out  in  turret 
and  gable,  and  flowered  before  their  very  eyes  in 
crimson  upholstery. 

The  truth  was  that  Cold  Spring  was  the  only 
colored  church  known  to  its  congregation  that 
boasted  anything  approaching  in  gorgeousness 
its  pulpit  furnishings  of  red  cotton  velvet,  and 
never  a  curious  sinner  dropped  in  during  any  of 
its  services  for  a  peep  at  its  grandeur  without 
leaving  a  sufficient  quota  of  his  substance  to  en 
dow  him  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  proprietor 
ship  in  it  all. 

The  man  who  has  given  a  brick  to  the  build 
ing  of  the  walls  of  a  sanctuary  has  always  a  feel 
ing  of  interest  in  the  edifice,  whether  he  be  of  its 
fold  or  not,  and  if  he  return  to  it  an  old  man,  it 
will  seem  to  yield  him  a  sort  of  welcoming  recog 
nition.  The  brick  he  gave  is  somewhere  doing 
its  part  in  sustaining  the  whole,  and  the  uncer 
tainty  of  its  whereabouts  seems  to  bestow  it 
everywhere. 

I  was  not  long  in  finding  my  way  to  Jordan's 
church.  It  was  in  summer  time,  and  a  large 
part  of  his  congregation  was  composed  of  young 
girls  and  their  escorts  on  the  afternoon  when  I 
slipped  into  the  pew  near  the  door. 

The  church  was  crowded  within,  while  the 
138 


THE  REV.  WHITE'S  THREE  GLANCES 

nsnal  contingent  of  idlers  hung  about  the  front 
door  and  open  windows. 

I  searched  Jordan's  face  for  a  few  moments,  in 
the  hope  of  discovering  whether  he  recognized 
me  or  not,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  de 
cide.  If  his  "secret  glance"  ever  discerned  me 
in  my  shadowed  corner,  neither  of  the  other  two 
betrayed  it. 

I  soon  discovered  that  there  was  to  be  no  ser 
mon  on  this  occasion,  for  which  I  was  sorry,  as 
I  supposed  that  his  most  ambitious  effort  would 
naturally  take  shape  in  this  form.  Of  this, 
however,  I  now  have  my  doubts. 

After  the  conventional  opening  of  service  with 
prayer,  Scripture  reading,  and  song,  he  passed 
with  apparent  naturalness  to  the  collection,  the 
ceremony  to  which  everything  seemed  to  tend. 

The  opening  of  this  subject  was  again  con 
ventional,  the  only  deviation  from  the  ordinary 
manner  of  procedure  being  that,  instead  of  the 
hat's  passing  round  it  was  inverted  upon  the 
table  beside  the  pulpit,  while  contributors,  pass 
ing  up  the  aisles,  deposited  their  contributions 
and  returned  to  their  seats. 

This  in  itself,  it  will  be  seen,  elevated  the 
collection  somewhat  in  the  scale  of  ceremonial 
importance. 

139 


MORIAH'8    MOURNING 

For  some  time  the  house  was  quite  astir  with 
the  procession  which  moved  up  one  side  and 
down  the  other,  many  singing  fervently  as  they 
went,  and  dramatically  holding  their  coins  aloft 
as  they  swayed  in  step  with  the  music,  while 
above  all  rose  the  exhortations  of  the  preacher 
which  waxed  in  fervor  as  the  first  generous  im 
pulse  began  to  wane. 

"Drap  in  yo'  dollar!"  he  was  shouting. 
"  Drap  in  yo'  half  dollar  !  Drap  in  yo'  dime  ! 
Drap  in  yo'  nickel.  Drap  in  yo'  nickel,  I  say, 
an'  ef  yer  ain't  got  a  nickel,  come  up  an'  let's 
pray  fur  yer  ! 

"  Ef  yer  ain't  got  a  nickel,"  he  repeated,  en 
couraged  by  the  titter  that  greeted  this ;  "  ef 
yer  ain't  got  a  nickel,  come  up  an'  let  de  whole 
congergation  pray  fur  yer  !  We'll  teck  up  a 
collection  fur  any  man  dat  '1  stan'  up  an'  con 
fess  he  ain't  wuth  a  nickel." 

A  half  dozen  grinning  young  fellows  stepped 
up  now  with  corns  concealed  in  the  palms  of 
their  hands. 

"  Come  on  !  Come  on,  all  you  nickel  boys  ! 
Come  on. 

' '  Ev'y  nickel  is  a  wheel  ter  keep  salvation's 
train  a-movin' !  Come  on,  I  say ;  bring  yo' 
wheels ! 

140 


THE   REV.  WHITE'S  THREE   GLANCES 

"Ef  yon  ain't  got  a  big  wheel  fur  de  ingine 
fetch  a  little  wheel  fur  de  freight  train  !  We 
needs  a-plenty  o'  freight  kyars  on  dis  salvation 
train.  'Gaze  hit's  loaded  up  heavy  wid  Bibles 
fur  de  heathen,  an'  brick  an'  lumber  to  buil' 
churches,  an'  medicine  fur  de  sick,  an'  ole  clo'es 
fur  de  po' — heap  ob  'em  wid  de  buttons  cut  off'n 
'em,  but  dat  ain't  our  fault,  we  bleeged  ter  sen' 
'em  on !  Fetch  on  yo'  little  wheels,  I  say,  fur 
de  freight  train." 

There  had  been  quite  a  respectable  response 
to  this  appeal  thus  far,  but  again  it  spent  itself 
and  there  was  a  lull  when  Jordan,  folding  his 
arms,  and  looking  intently  before  him,  in  several 
directions  apparently,  exclaimed  in  a  most  tragic 
tone  : 

"My  Gord  !  Is  de  salvation  train  done 
stallded  right  in  front  o'  Claybank  chu'ch,  an' 
we  can't  raise  wheels  ter  sen'  it  on  ? 

"Lord  have  mussy,  I  say!  I  tell  yer,  my 
brers  an'  sisters,  you's  a-treatin'  de  kyar  o'  glory 
wuss'n  you'd  treat  a  ole  cotton  mule  wagon  ! 
You  is,  fur  a  fac'! 

"Ef  air  ole  mule  wagon  ur  a  donkey-kyart 

was  stallded  out  in  de  road  in  front  o'  dis  chu'ch 

— don'  keer  ef   it  was   loaded   up   wid   pippy 

chickens,  much  less'n  de  Lord's  own  freight — 

141 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

dey  ain't  one  o'  yer  but  'd  raise  a  wheel  ter  sen' 
it  on !  You  know  yer  would  !  An'  heah  de 
salvation  train  is  stuck  deep  in  de  mud,  an'  yer 
know  Arkansas  mud  hit's  mud ;  hit  ain't  b'iled 
custard ;  no,  it  ain't,  an'  hit  sticks  like  glue  ! 
Heah  de  glory  kyar  is  stallded  in  dis  tar-colored 
Arkansas  glue-mud,  I  say,  an'  I  can't  raise 
wheels  enough  out'n  dis  congergation  ter  sen' 
it  on !  An'  dis  is  de  Holy  Sabbath  day,  too,  de 
day  de  Lord  done  special  set  apart  fur  h'istin' 
a  oxes  out'n  a  ditch,  es  much  less'n  salvation's 
train. 

"  Now,  who  gwine  fetch  in  de  nex'  wheel,  my 
brothers,  my  sisters,  my  sinner  -  frien's  ?  Who 
gwine  fetch  a  wheel  ?  Dat's  it !  Heah  come  a 
wheel — two  wheels — three  wheels;  fetch  one 
mo' ;  heah,  a  odd  wheel ;  de  train's  a  -  saggin' 
down  lop-sided  fur  one  mo'  wheel !  Heah  it  come 
— f'om  a  ole  'oman,  too  !  Shame  on  you,  boys, 
ter  let  po'  ole  Aunt  Charity  Pettigrew,  wha' 
nussed  yo'  mammies,  an'  is  half-Win'  an'  deef  at 
dat — shame  on  yer  ter  let  'er  lif  dis  train  out'n 
de  mud  !  An'  yer  know  she  kyant  heah  me  nuth- 
er.  She  des  brung  a  wheel  'caze  she  felt  de 
yearth  trimble,  an'  knowed  de  train  was  stallded  ! 

"  Oh,  my  brers,  de  yearth  gwine  trimble  wuss'n 
dat  one  o'  deze  days,  an'  look  out  de  rocks  don't 
142 


THE   REV.  WHITE'S   THREE   GLANCES 

kiver  yon  over  !  Don't  hoi'  back  dis  train  ef  you 
c'n  he'p  it  on  !  I  ain't  axin'  yer  fur  no  paper 
greenbacks  to-day  to  light  de  ingine  fire  ! 

"  I  ain't  a  -  beggin'  yer  fur  no  gol'  an'  silver 
wheels  fur  de  passenger  trains  for  de  saints,  'caze 
yer  know  de  passenger  kyars  wha'  ride  inter  de 
city  o'  de  King,  dey  'bleege  ter  have  gol'  and  sil 
ver  wheels  ter  match  de  golden  streets ;  but,  I 
say,  I  ain't  axin'  yer  fur  no  gol'  an'  silver  wheels 
to-day,  nur  no  kindlin' !  De  train  is  all  made  up 
an'  de  ingine  is  a  steamin',  an'  de  b'ilers  is  full. 
I  say  de  Viler s  is  full,  my  dear  frien's. 

"  Full  o'  what  ?  Whar  do  dey  git  water  ter 
run  dis  gorspil  train  ?  Dis  heah's  been  a  mighty 
dry  season,  an'  de  cotton-fiel's  is  a-beggin'  now 
fur  water,  an'  I  say  wJiar  do  de  salvation  train 
git  water  fur  de  ingine  9 

"  Oh,  my  po'  sinner-frien's,  does  you  want  me 
ter  tell  yer  ? 

"  De  cisterns  long  de  track  is  bustin'  full  o' 
water,  an'  so  long  as  a  sinner  got  o'  tear  ter  shed 
de  water  ain't  gwine  run  out !" 

«  Yas,  Lord  !"  "  Glory  !"  "  Amen  !"  and 
f '  Amen  !"  with  loud  groans  came  from  vari 
ous  parts  of  the  house  now,  and  many  wheels 
were  added  to  Glory's  train  by  the  men  about 
the  door,  while  Jordan  continued  : 
143 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  Don't  be  afeerd  ter  weep !  De  ingine  o' 
Glory's  kyar  would  o'  gi'en  out  o'  water  long  'fo' 
now  in  deze  heah  summer  dry-drouths  if  'twarn't 
fur  de  tears  o'  sinners,  an'  de  grief-stricken  an' 
de  heavy-hearted  !  I  tell  yer  Glory's  train  stops 
ter  teck  in  water  at  de  mo'ner's  bench  eve'y  day  ! 
So  don't  be  afeerd  to  weep.  But  bring  on  de 
wheels  !" 

He  paused  here  and  looked  searchingly  about 
him. 

There  was  no  response.  Stepping  backward 
now  and  running  both  hands  deep  into  his  pock 
ets,  he  dropped  his  oratorical  tone,  and,  falling 
easily  into  the  conversational,  continued  : 

"  Well,  maybe  you  right  !  Maybe  you  right, 
my  frien's  settin'  down  by  de  do',  an'  my  frien's 
leanin'  'gins'  de  choir  banisters,  an'  I  ain'  gwine 
say  no  mo'.  I  was  lookin'  fur  you  ter  come  up 
wid  some  sort  o'  wheel,  an'  maybe  a  silver  wheel 
ter  match  dat  watch-chain  hangin'  out'n  yo' 
waistcoat-pocket ;  but  maybe  you  right ! 

"  When  a  man  set  still  an'  say  nothin'  while 
de  voice  is  a  callin'  I  reck'n  he  knows  what  he's 
a-doin'. 

"  He  knows  whether  de  wheels  in  his  pocket 
is  fitt'n  fur  de  gorspil  kyar  ur  not !  An'  I  say 
ter  you  to-day  dat  ef  dat  money  in  yo'  pocket 
144 


THE  REV.  WHITE'S  THREE  GLANCES 

ain't  clean  money,  don't  yon  dare  ter  fetch  it  np 
heab  ! 

"  Ef  yon  made  dat  money  sneakin'  roun'  hen- 
rooses  in  de  dark  o'  de  moon — I  don't  say  yon  is, 
bnt  ef  yon  is  —  yon  set  right  still  in  yo'  seat  an' 
don't  dare  ter  offer  it  ter  de  Lord,  I  say  ! 

"Ef  yon  backed  yo' wagon  inter  somebody 
else's  watermillion  patch  by  de  roadside  an'  load 
ed  np  on  yo'  way  ter  town  'fo'  snnnp  —  I  don't 
say  yon  is,  mind  yer,  bnt  ef  you  is  —  set  right 
whar  yon  is,  an'  do  des  like  yon  been  doin',  'caze 
de  money  yon  made  on  dat  early  mornin'  wagon 
load  ain't  fitt'n  fnr  wheels  fnr  de  gorspil  train ! 

"An'  deze  yo'ng  men  at  de  winders,  I  say,  ef 
de  wheels  in  yo9  pockets  come  f'om  matcliin' 
nickels  on  de  roadside,  or  kyard-playin',  or  may- 
be  drivin'  home  de  wrong  pig.  (You  nee'n't  ter 
langh.  De  feller  dat  spo'ts  de  shinies'  stovepipe 
hat  of  a  Snnday  sometimes  cnts  de  ears  off'n  de 
shoat  he  kills  of  a  Sa'day,  'caze  de  ears  got  a 
tell-tale  mark  on  'em.)  An',  I  say,  ef  you  got 
yo'  money  dat  a-way,  won't  you  des  move  back 
from  de  winders,  please,  an'  meek  room  fur  some 
o'  dem  standin'  behin'  yer  dat  got  good  hones' 
wheels  ter  pass  in !" 

This  secured  the  window  crowds  intact,  and 
now  Jordan  turned  to  the  congregation  within, 
K  14.-) 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"An'  now,  dear  beloved."  He  lowered  his 
voice.  "  For  sech  as  I  done  specified,  let  us 
pray  !" 

He  had  raised  his  hands  and  was  closing  his 
eyes  in  prayer,  when  a  man  rose  in  the  centre  of 
the  church. 

"  Brer  Jordan/'  he  began,  langhing  with  em 
barrassment.  ' '  Ef  some  o'  de  brers  nr  sisters  '11 
change  a  dime  fur  me — " 

Jordan  opened  his  eyes  and  his  hands  fell. 

' '  Bless  de  Lord  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  feeling. 

"  Bless  de  Lord,  one  man  done  claired  'isse'f  ! 
Glory,  I  say  !  Come  on  up,  Brer  Smiff,  V  I'll 
gi'e  you  yo'  change  !" 

"  Ef— Brer  Smiff  '11  loan  me  dat  nickel  ?"  said  a 
timid  voice  near  the  window. 

Smith  hesitated,  grinning  broadly. 

6 f  Ef — ef  I  could  o'  spared  de  dime,  Mr.  Small, 
I'd  a  put  it  in  myse'f,  but — but—" 

"But  nothin'!     Put  de  dime  in  de  hat  !" 

The  voice  came  from  near  the  front  now. 
"  Pat  it  all  in  de  hat,  Brer  Smiff.  You  owes  me 
a  nickel  an'  I'll  loan'd  it  to  Mr.  Small." 

And  so,  amid  much  laughter,  Smith  reluctant 
ly  deposited  his  dime. 

Others  followed  so  fast  that  when  Jordan  ex 
claimed,  "  Who  gwine  be  de  nex'  ?"  his  words 
146 


TPIE   REV.  WHITE'S   THREE  GLANCES 

were  almost  lost  in  the  commotion.  Still  his 
voice  had  its  effect. 

( '  Heah  one  mo' — two  mo' — f  o'  mo' — eight  mo' ! 
Glory,  I  say  !  An'  heah  dey  come  in  de  winder  ! 
Oh,  I'm  prond  ter  see  it,  yo'ng  men  !  I'm  proud 
ter  see  it !" 

Borrowing  or  making  change  was  now  the  order 
of  the  moment,  as  every  individual  present  who 
had  not  already  contributed  felt  called  upon  thus 
to  exonerate  himself  from  so  grave  a  charge. 

Amid  the  fresh  stir  a  tremulous  female  voice 
raised  a  hymn,  another  caught  it  up,  and  anoth 
er — voices  strong  and  beautiful ;  alto  voices  soft 
as  flute  notes  blended  with  the  rich  bass  notes 
and  triumphant  tenors  that  welled  from  the  choir, 
and  floated  in  from  the  windows,  until  the  body 
of  the  church  itself  seemed  almost  to  sway  with 
the  rhythmic  movement  of  the  stirring  hymn 

"Salvation's  kyar  is  movin'." 

Still,  above  all,  Jordan's  voice  could  be  dis 
tinguished — as  a  fine  musical  instrument,  and 
whether  breaking  through  the  tune  in  a  volley 
of  exhortations,  or  rising  superior  to  it  all  in  a 
rich  tenor — his  words  thrown  in  snatches,  or 
drawn  out  to  suit  his  purpose — never  once  did  it 
mar  the  wonderful  harmony  of  the  whole. 
147 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

It  was  a  scene  one  could  not  easily  forget. 

The  shaft  of  low  sunlight  that  now  filled  the 
church,  revealing  a  bouquet  of  brilliant  color  in 
gay  feathers  and  furbelows,  with  a  generous 
sprinkling  of  white  heads,  lit  up  a  set  of  faces 
at  once  so  serious  and  so  happy,  so  utterly  for 
getful  of  life's  frettings  and  cares,  that  I  felt  as 
I  looked  upon  them,  that  their  perfect  vocal 
agreement  was  surely  but  a  faint  reflection  of 
a  sweet  spiritual  harmony,  which  even  if  it  did 
not  survive  the  moment,  was  worth  a  long  jour 
ney  thither,  for  in  so  hearty  a  confession  of  fel 
lowship,  in  so  complete  a  laying  down  of  life's 
burdens,  there  is  certainly  rest  and  a  renewal  of 
strength. 

Feeling  this  to  be  a  good  time  to  slip  out  un 
observed,  I  noiselessly  secured  my  hat  from  be 
neath  the  pew  before  me,  but  I  had  hardly  risen 
when  I  perceived  a  messenger  hurrying  towards 
me  from  the  pulpit,  with  a  request  that  I  should 
remain  a  moment  longer,  and  before  I  could  take 
in  the  situation  the  singing  was  over  and  Jordan 
was  speaking. 

What  he  said,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recall  it,  was 
as  follows  : 

"  Befo'  I  pernounces  de  benediction,  I  wants 
ter  Ypress  de  thanks  o'  dis  chu'ch  ter  de'oner'ble 
148 


-  . 


THE  REV.  WHITE'S   THREE   GLANCES 

visitor  wha'  set  'isse'f  so  modes"  in  de  las'  pew 
dis  evening  an'  den  sen'  up  de  bigges"1  conterbu- 
tiom,  fulfillin'  de  words  o'  de  Scripture,,  which 
say  de  las'  sJiill  be  fus'  an'  de  fus'  shill  be  las'. 

"  Brer  Chesterfiel7  Jones,,  please  ter  rise  an' 
receive  de  thanks  o'  de  congergation  fur  dat 
generous  five  -  dollar  bill  wha'  you  sont  up  by 
Brer  Phil  Dolittle." 

He  paused  here,  and  feeling  all  eyes  turned 
upon  me,  I  was  constrained  to  rise  to  my  feet, 
and  I  think  I  can  truly  say  that  I  have  never 
been  surprised  by  greater  embarrassment  than 
I  felt  as  I  hurriedly  subsided  to  the  depths  of 
my  corner.  Addressing  himself  now  to  Dolittle, 
Jordan  continued  : 

"  I  'ain't  see  you  walk  so  biggoty  in  a  long 
time,  Brer  Dolittle,  as  you  walked  when  you 
fetched  up  dat  five  dollars.  Ef  dis  heah  'd 
been  a  cake  walk  yo'd  o'  tooken  de  prize,  sho'. 

"  De  nex'  time  dy'  all  gets  up  a  cake  walk  on 
dis  plantation,  lemme  advise  you  ter  borry  a 
five-dollar  note  f'om  somebody  dat  don't  Icnoiv  yer, 
ter  tote  when  yer  walk.  Hit'll  he'p  yer  ter  keep 
yo'  chin  up. 

"  An'  dat  ain't  all.  Hit'll  he'p  me  ter  keep  my 
chin  up  when  I  ca'ys  dis  greenback  bill  to  de 
grocery  to-morrer  an'  I'll  turn  it  into  a  wheel, 
149 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

too  —  two  wheels,  wid  a  bulge  between  'em. 
Now  guess  wha'  dat  is  ?" 

The  congregation  were  by  this  time  convulsed 
with  laughter,  and  some  one  answered  aloud : 

"Aflour-bar'l!" 

"  Dat's  it,  Joe,  a  flour-bar'l !  You's  a  good 
guesser. 

"An'  so  now,  in  de  name  o'  Col'  Spring 
Chu'ch,  Brer  Jones,  I  thanks  you  ag'in  fur  a 
bar'l  o'  flour,  an'  I  tecks  it  mighty  kin'  o7  you 
too,  'caze  I  knows  deys  a  heap  o'  Tiscopalpalian 
preachers  wha'  wouldn't  o3  done  it!  Dey'd  be 
'feerd  dat  ef  dey  gi'e  any  o'  de  high-risin'  Tisco 
palpalian  flour  ter  de  Baptists  dat  dey'd  ruin  it 
wid  col'  water!" 

There  was  so  much  laughter  here  that  Jordan 
had  to  desist  for  a  moment,  but  he  had  not 
finished. 

"But"  he  resumed,  with  renewed  serious 
ness — "  But  ef  CJiristians  on'y  knoiued  it,  dey 
kin  put  a  little  leaven  o'  solid  Christianity  in  all 
de  charity  flour  dey  gi'es  away,  an'  hit'll  leaven 
de  whole  lot  so  strong  dat  too  much  ivater  can't 
spile  it,  nur  too  much  fire  can't  scorch  it,  nur  too 
much  fore-sight  (ur  whatever  dis  heah  is  de 
P'esberteriums  mixes  in  dey  bread)  can't  set 
it  so  stiff  it  can't  rise,  'caze  hit's  got  de  strong 
150 


THE  REV.  WHITE'S  THREE  GLANCES 

leaven  o'  de    spirit  in   it,    an'   hit's  boun'  ter 
come  up! 

"  I  see  de  sun's  gitt'n  low,  an'  hit's  time  ter 
let  down  de  bars  an'  turn  de  sheeps  loose,  an' 
de  goats  too — not  sayin'  deys  any  goats  in  dis 
flock,  an'  not  sayin'  dey  ain't — but  'fo'  we  goes 
out,  I  wants  ter  say  one  mo'  word  ter  Brer  Do. 
little." 

His  whole  face  was  atwinkle  with  merriment 
now. 

"  Dey  does  say,  Brer  Dolittle,  dat  riches  is 
mighty  'ceitful  an'  mighty  ap'  ter  turn  a  man's 
head,  an'  I  tookin'  notice  dat  arter  you  fetched 
up  Brer  Chesterfiel'  Jones's  five  dollars  to-day 
you  nuver  corndescended  ter  meek  no  secon' 
trip  to  de  hat  on  Brer  Dolittle's  'count. 

"I  did  think  I'd  turn  a  searchin'  glance  on 
yer  fur  a  minute  an'  shame  yer  up  heah,  but  you 
looked  so  happy  an'  so  full  o'  biggoty  I  spared 
yer,  but  yer  done  had  time  ter  cool  off  now,  an' 
I  'bleeged  ter  bring  yer  ter  de  scratch. 

"  Now,  ef  you  done  teched  de  five  -  dollar 
notch  an'  can't  git  down,  we'll  git  somebody 
ter  loan'd  yer  a  greenback  bill  ter  fetch  up,  an' 
while'  de  conge rgation  is  meditatin'  on  dey  sins 
I'll  gi'e  you  back  fo'  dollars  an'  ninety-five 
cents." 

151 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Amid  screams  of  laughter  poor  little  Dolittle, 
a  comical,  wizen-faced  old  man,  nervously  se 
cured  a  nickel  from  the  corner  of  his  handker 
chief,  and,  grinning  broadly,  walked  up  with  it. 

"De  ve'y  leastest  a  man  kin  do,"  Jordan  con 
tinued,  as  leaning  forward  he  presented  the  hat 
— "  de  ve'y  leastest  he  kin  do  is  ter  live  up  ter  'is 
name,  an'  ef  my  name  was  Dolittle  I  sho'  would 
try  ter  live  up  ter  dat,  ef  /  didn't  pass  beyond 
it!" 

And  as  he  restored  the  hat  to  the  table  beside 
him,  he  added,  with  a  quizzical  lift  of  his  brow  : 

"  I  does  try  ter  live  up  ter  my  name  even,  an' 
yer  know,  my  feller-sinners,  hit  does  look  like  a 
hard  case  fur  a  man  o'  my  color  ter  live  up  ter 
de  name  o'  White." 

He  waited  again  for  laughter  to  subside, 

"  At  leas',"  he  resumed,  seriously,  "  hit  did 
look  like  a  hard  case  at  fust,  but  by  de  grace  o3 
Gord  I  done  'skivered  de  way  ter  do  it ! 

"Ef  we  all  had  ter  live  up  ter  our  skins,  hit'd 
be  purty  hard  on  a  heap  of  us ;  but,  bless  de 
Lord  !  he  don't  look  at  de  skins  ;  he  looks  at  de 
heart ! 

"I  tries  ter  keep  my  heart  white,  an'  my  soul 
white,  an*  my  sperit  white !  Dat's  how  I  tries 
ter  live  up  ter  my  name  wid  a  white  cornscience, 
153 


THE   REV.  WHITE'S   THREE   GLANCES 

bless  de  Lord!    An'  I  looks  fur  my  people  ter 
he'p  me  all  dey  kin." 

And  now,  amid  a  hearty  chorus  of  "  Amens  I" 
and  "  Glorys  I"  he  raised  his  hands  for  a  bene 
diction,  which  in  its  all-embracing  scope  did  not 
fail  to  invoke  Di  pine  favor  upon  "  our  good  'Pis- 
copalpalian  brother,  Riviren'  ChesterfieF  Jones 
— Gord  bless  him.'"" 


LADY 

A  MONOLOGUE   OF  THE   COW-PEtf 


LADY 

A  MONOLOGUE  OF  THE  COW-PEH 


UMH I  Fur  Gord  sake,  des  look  at  dem 
cows  1  All  squez  up  together  'g'ins'  dem 
bars  in  dat  sof  mud — des  like  I  knowed 
dey  gwine  be — an'  me  late  at  my  milkin' !  You 
Lady !  Teck  yo'  prond  neck  down  f  om  off  dat 
heifer's  head  I  Back,  I  tell  yer  !  Don't  tell  me, 
Spot !  Yas,  I  know  she  impose  on  you — yas  she 
do.  Keachin'  her  monst'ous  mouf  clair  over  yo' 
po'  little  muley  head.  Move  back,  I  say,  Lady  ! 
Ef  you  so  biggoty,  why  don't  you  fool  wid  some 
o'  dem  horn  cows  ?  You  is  a  lady,  eve'y  inch  of 
yer  1  You  knows  who  to  fool  wid.  You  is  de 
uppishes'  cow  I  ever  see  in  all  my  life — puttin' 
on  so  much  style — an*  yo'  milk  so  po'  an'  blue,  I 
could  purty  nigh  blue  my  starch  clo'es  wid  it. 
Look  out  dar,  Peggy,  how  you  squeeze  'g'ins' 
157 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Lady  !  She  ain'  gwine  teck  none  o*  yo'  foolish 
ness.  Peggy  ain't  got  a  speck  o'  manners  !  Lady 
b'longs  ter  de  cream  o'  s'ciety,  I  have  yer  know, 
— an'  bless  Gord,  I  b'lieve  dat's  all  de  cream  dey 
is  about  her.  Hyah  !  fnr  Gord's  sake  lis'n  at  me, 
passin'  a  joke  on  Lady  I 

I  does  love  to  pleg  dem  cows — dey  teck  it  so 
good-natured.  Heap  o'  us  'omans  mought  teck 
lessons  in  Christianity  f'om  a  cow — de  way  she 
stan'  so  still  an'  des  look  mild-eyed  an'  chaw  'er 
cud  when  anybody  sass  'er.  Dey'd  be  a  heap 
less  family  quar'lin  on  dis  plantation  ef  de  'omans 
had  cuds  ter  chaw — dat  is  ef  dey'd  be  satisfied 
ter  chaw  dey  own.  But  ef  dey  was  ter  have  'em 
'twouldn't  be  no  time  befo'  dey'd  be  cud  fights 
eve'y  day  in  de  week,  eve'y  one  thinkin'  de  nex' 
one  had  a  sweeter  moufful  'n  what  she  had. 
Reckon  we  got  'nough  ter  go  to  law  'bout,  wid- 
out  cuds — ain't  we  Lady  ?  Don't  start  pawin'  de 
groun'  now,  des  caze  yer  heah  me  speculatin'  at 
yo'  feed  -  trough.  I  kin  talk  an'  work  too.  I 
ain't  like  you — nuver  do  n'air  one. 

1  ain't  gwine  pay  no  'tention  ter  none  o'  y'all 
no  mo'  now  tell  I  git  yo'  supper  ready.  Po' 
little  Brindle  !  Stan'  so  still,  an'  ain't  say  a 
word.  I'm  a-fixiu'  yo'  feed  now,  honey — yas,  I 
is !  I  allus  mixes  yo's  fust,  caze  I  know  you 
158 


LADY 

nuver  gits  in  till  de  las'  one  an'  some  o'  de  rest 
o'  de  greedies  mos'  gin'ally  eats  it  up  fo'  you 
gits  it. 

She's  a   Scriptu'al   cow,  Brindle  is  —  she   so 
meek. 

Yas,  I  sho'  does  love  Brindle.  Any  cow  dat 
kin  walk  in  so  'umble,  after  all  de  res'  git  done, 
an'  pick  up  a  little  scrap  o'  leaving  out'ii  de 
trough  de  way  she  do — an'  turn  it  eve'y  bit  into 
good  yaller  butter  —  dat  what  I  calls  a  cow! 
Co'se  I  know  Lady'll  git  in  here  ahead  o'  yer, 
honey,  an'  eat  all  dis  mash  I'm  a-mixin'  so  good 
fur  you.  It  do  do  me  good  to  see  'er  do  it,  too. 
I  sho'  does  love  Lady — de  way  'er  manners  sets 
on  'er.  She  don't  count  much  at  de  churn— an' 
she  ain't  got  no  conscience  —  an'  no  cha'acter  — 
but  she's  a  lady  !  Dat's  huccome  I  puts  up  wid 
'er.  Yas,  I'm  a-talkin'  'bout  you,  Lady,  an'  I'm 
a-lookin'  at  yer,  too,  rahin'  yo'  head  up  so  cir 
cumstantial.  But  you  meets  my  eye  like  a  lady  ! 
You  ain't  shame-faced,  is  yer  !  You  too  well  riz 
— you  is.  You  know  dat  /  know  dat  yo'  po' 
measly  sky-colored  milk  sours  up  into  mighty 
fine  clabber  ter  feed  yo'ng  tukkeys  wid — you  an' 
me,  we  knows  dat,  don't  we  ? 

Hyah  !     Dar,  now,  we  done  turned  de  joke  on 
all  you  yaller-ereamers — ain't  we,  Lady  ? 
159 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Lordy !  I  wonder  fo'  gracious  ef  Lady  nod 
her  head  to  me  accidental ! 

Is  you  'spondin'  ter  me,  Lady  ?  Tell  de  trufe, 
I  spec's  Lady  ter  twis'  up  'er  tongue  an'  talk 
some  day — she  work  'er  mouf  so  knowin' ! 

Dis  heah  cotton-seed  ought  ter  be  tooken  out'n 
her  trough,  by  rights.  Ef  I  could  feed  her  on 
bran  an'  good  warm  slops  a  while,  de  churn 
would  purty  soon  'spute  her  rights  wid  de  tukk- 
eys  ! 

A  high-toned  cow,  proud  as  Lady  is,  ought 
ter  reach  white-folk's  table  somehow-ma-ruther. 
But  you  gits  dar  all  the  same,  don't  yer  Lady  ? 
You  gits  dar  in  tukkey-meat  ef  dey  don't  reco'nize 
yer  ! 

Well !  I'm  done  mixin'  now  an'  I  turns  my 
back  on  de  trough — an'  advance  ter  de  bars. 
Lordy,  how  purty  dem  cows  does  look — wid  dat 
low  sun  'g'ins'  dey  backs  !  So  patient  an'  yit  so 
onpatient. 

Back,  now,  till  I  teck  out  dese  rails  ! 

Soh,  now  !  Easy,  Spot !  Easy,  Lady  !  I  does 
love  ter  let  down  dese  bars  wid  de  sun  in  my 
eyes.  I  loves  it  mos'  as  good  as  I  loves  ter  milk. 

Down  she  goes  ! 

Step  up  quick,  now,  Brindle,  an'  git  yo'  place. 

Lord  have  mussy !     Des  look  how   Brindle 
160 


LADY 

meek  way  fur  Lady  !  I  know'd  Lady'd  git  dar 
fust  !  I  know'd  it  ! 

An'  dat's  huccome  I  mixed  dat  feed  so  pur- 
tic'lar. 

I  does  love  Lady  ! 


A    PULPIT    ORATOK 


A   PULPIT    OKATOB 


OLD  EenV  Tyler,  pastor  of  Mount  Ziou  Chap- 
el,  Sugar  Hollow  Plantation,  was  a  pulpit 
orator  of  no  mean  parts.  Though  his  edu 
cation,  acquired  during  his  fifty-ninth,  sixtieth, 
and  sixty-first  summers,  had  not  carried  him  be 
yond  the  First  Reader  class  in  the  local  district 
school,  it  had  given  him  a  pretty  thorough  knowl 
edge  of  the  sounds  of  simple  letter  combinations. 
This,  supplemented  by  a  quick  intuition  and  a 
correct  musical  ear,  had  aided  him  to  really  re 
markable  powers  of  interpretation,  and  there  was 
now,  ten  years  later,  no  chapter  in  the  entire 
Bible  which  he  hesitated  to  read  aloud,  such  as 
contained  long  strings  of  impossible  names  hung 
upon  a  chain  of  "begats"  being  his  favorite 
achievements. 

A   common  tribute  paid  ReuVs  pulpit   elo 
quence  by  reverential  listeners  among  his  flock 
165 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

was,  "  Brer  Tyler  is  got  a  black  face,  but  his 
speech  sho'  is  white."  The  truth  was  that  in  his 
humble  way  Reub'  was  something  of  a  philologist. 
A  new  word  was  to  him  a  treasure,  so  much  stock 
in  trade,  and  the  longer  and  more  formidable  the 
acquisition,  the  dearer  its  possession. 

Reub's  unusual  vocabulary  was  largely  the  re 
sult  of  his  intimate  relations  with  his  master, 
Judge  Marshall,  whose  body-servant  he  had  been 
for  a  number  of  years.  The  judge  had  long  been 
dead  now,  and  the  plantation  had  descended  to 
his  son,  the  present  incumbent. 

ReuV  was  entirely  devoted  to  the  family  of  his 
former  owners,  and  almost  any  summer  evening 
now  he  might  be  seen  sitting  on  the  lowest  of 
the  five  steps  which  led  to  the  broad  front  veran 
da  of  the  great  house  where  Mr.  John  Marshall 
sat  smoking  his  meerschaum.  If  Marshall  felt 
amiably  disposed  he  would  often  hand  the  old 
man  a  light,  or  even  his  own  tobacco-bag,  from 
which  Reub'  would  fill  his  corn-cob  pipe,  and 
the  two  would  sit  and  smoke  by  the  hour,  talk 
ing  of  the  crops,  the  weather,  politics,  religion, 
anything — as  the  old  man  led  the  way  ;  for  these 
evening  communings  were  his  affairs  rather  than 
his  "Marse  John's."  On  a  recent  occasion, 
while  they  sat  talking  in  this  way,  Marshall  was 
166 


A    PULPIT    ORATOR 

congratulating  him  upon  his  unprecedented  suc 
cess  in  conducting  a  certain  revival  then  in  prog 
ress,  when  the  old  man  said  : 

' ( Yassir,  de  Lord  sho'  is  gimme  a  rich  harves'. 
But  you  know  some'h'n',  Marse  John  ?  All  de 
power  o'  language  th'ough  an'  by  which  I  am  en 
able  ter  seize  on  de  sperit  is  come  to  me  th'ough 
ole  marster.  I  done  tooken  my  pattern  f'om  him 
f'om  de  beginnin,'  an'  des  de  way  I  done  heerd 
him  argify  de  cases  in  de  co't-house,  dat's  de 
way  I  lay  out  ter  state  my  case  befo'  de  Lord. 

' '  I  nuver  is  preached  wid  power  yit  on'y  but 
'cep'  when  I  sees  de  sinner  standin'  'fo'  de  bar  o' 
de  Lord,  an'  de  witnesses  on  de  stan',  an'  de 
speckletators  pressin'  for'ard  to  heah,  an'  de  jury 
listening  an  me — Ftn  de  prosecutin'  'torney  ! 

"  An'  when  I  gits  dat  whole  co't-room  'ranged 
'fo'  my  eyes  in  my  min',  an'  de  prisoner  standin' 
in  de  box,  I  des  reg'lar  lay'im  out!  You  see,  I 
knows  all  de  law  words  ter  do  it  wid!  I  des  open 
fire  on  'im,  an'  prove  'im  a  crim'nal,  a  law-break 
er,  a  vagabone,  a  murderer  in  ev'y  degree  dey  is 
— fus',  secon',  an'  third — a  reperbate,  an'  a  blot 
on  de  face  o'  de  yearth,  tell  dey  ain't  a  chance 
lef  fur  'im  but  ter  fall  on  'is  knees  an'  plead 
guilty  ! 

"An'  when  I  got  'im  down,  I  got  'im  whar  I 
167 


MORIAH'S     MO  T 


..-.'  do  work's  half  did.  Pen  I  shifs 
'  pris'n0r*8  Vortuy,  an*  preach  grace 
tell  I  gits  *im  shontin' — des  de  same  as  ole  mars- 
ter  nse  ter  do— clair  a  man  whe'r  or  no,  guilty  or 

no  guilty,  stop  by  step,  mivor  stop  toll  ho'd  have 
do  last  juryman  blowin'  'is  nose  an'  snitttin' — an* 
he'd  do  it  wid  swellin'  die'sh'nary  words,  too  ! 

"Dat's  do  way  1  works  it— fus'  argify  fur  de 
>:..:  .  ':-.:-.;  :  fur  do  pris'nor. 

"I  tell  yer,  Marse  John.'  he  resumed,  after  a 
thoughtful  pause,  "  dey*s  one  word  o'  ole  mars- 
tor's — 1  don'no'  huooomo  it  slipped  my  min*.  but 
hit  was  a  long  glorified  word,  an'  1  often  wishes 
hit  *d  come  baot  twine.  Ef  I  could  ricollec'  dat 
word,  hit  M  holp  me  powerful  in  my  preachin'. 

"  Wondtr  ef  yon  Wouldn't  oall  out  a  few  dio'- 
sh'nary  words  fur  me.  please,  sir  ':  maybe  you 
mought  strike  it." 

Without  a  moment's  reflection,  Marshall,  seiz- 
ingat  random  upon  the  first  word  that  presented 
itself,  said,  "  How  about  ratiociuatiotif 

The  old  man  started  as  if  he  were  shot.  "Dat's 
hit !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Yassir,  dat's  hit !  How 
in  do  kingdom  oomo  is  you  strnok  it  do  fust  pop? 
Kasheoshinatiom  !  I  Vlare  !  Pat's  do  ve'y  word, 
sho's  you  born  !  Dat's  what  I  calls  a  high-tone 
word  ;  ain't  it,  now,  Marse  John  ?" 

UN 


PLEAS 


*ELL  DAT  WORD  OUT  FUK 


A    PULPIT    ORATOR 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Reub';  ratiocination  is  a  good 
word  in  its  place."  Marshall  was  much  amused. 
"  I  suppose  you  know  what  it  means  ?" 

"  Nemmine  'bout  dat,"  Reub'  protested,  grin 
ning  all  over — "nemmine  'bout  dat.  I  des  gwine 
fetch  it  in  when  I  needs  a  thunder-bolt !  Rasheo- 
shinatiom !  Dat's  a  bomb-shell  fur  de  prosecu- 
tiom !  But  I  can't  git  it  off  now  ;  Fm  too  cool. 
Wait  tell  Fm  standin'  in  de  pulpit  on  tip-toes, 
wid  de  sweat  a-po'in'  down  de  spine  o'  my  back, 
an'  fin'  myse'f  des  one  argimint  short!  Den  look 
out  fur  de  locomotive  ! 

"Won't  yer,"  he  added,  after  a  pause — "won't 
yer,  please,  sir,  spell  dat  word  out  fur  me  slow 
tell  I  writes  it  down  'fo'  I  forgits  it  ?" 

Reaching  deep  into  his  trousers  pocket,  he 
brought  forth  a  folded  scrap  of  tobacco-stained 
paper  and  a  bit  of  lead-pencil. 

Notwithstanding  his  fondness  for  the  old  man, 
there  was  a  twinkle  in  Marshall's  eye  as  he  be 
gan  to  spell  for  him,  letter  by  letter,  the  coveted 
word  of  power. 

"R,"  he  began,  glancing  over  the  writer's 
shoulder. 

"  R,"  repeated  ReuV,  laboriously  writing. 

"  A,"  continued  Marshall. 

"  R-a,"  repeated  Reub'. 
169 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  T,"  said  the  tutor. 

"  R-a-t,"  drawled  the  old  man,  when,  suddenly 
catching  the  sound  of  the  combination,  he  glanced 
first  at  the  letters  and  then  with  quick  suspicion 
up  into  Marshall's  face.  The  suppressed  smile 
he  detected  there  did  its  work.  He  felt  himself 
betrayed. 

Springing  tremulously  from  his  seat,  the  very 
embodiment  of  abused  confidence  and  wrath,  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  Well !  Hit's  come  ter  dis,  is  it  ?  One  o'  ole 
marster's  chillen  settin'  up  makin'  spote  o'  me  ter 
my  face  !  I  didn't  spect  it  of  yer,  Marse  John — 
I  did  not.  It's  bad  enough  when  some  o'  deze 
heah  low-down  po'-white-trash  town-boys  hollers 
' rats'  at  me — let  alone  my  own  white  chillen 
what  I  done  toted  in  my  arms  !  Lemme  go  home 
an'  try  ter  forgit  dis  insult  ole  marster's  chile  in 
sulted  me  wid  !" 

It  was  a  moment  before  Marshall  saw  where 
the  offence  lay,  and  then,  overcome  with  the 
ludicrousness  of  the  situation,  he  roared  with 
laughter  in  spite  of  himself. 

This  removed  him  beyond  the  pale  of  forgive 
ness,  and  as  Reub' hobbled  off,  talking  to  himself, 
Marshall  felt  that  present  protest  was  useless.  It 
was  perhaps  an  hour  later  when,  having  deposit- 
170 


A    PULPIT    ORATOR 

ed  a  bag  of  his  best  tobacco  in  his  coat  pocket, 
and  tucked  a  dictionary  under  his  arm,  Marshall 
made  his  way  to  the  old  man's  cabin,  where,  after 
many  affectionate  protestations  and  much  insist 
ence,  he  finally  induced  him  to  put  on  his  glasses 
and  spell  the  word  from  the  printed  page. 

He  was  not  easily  convinced.  However,  under 
the  force  of  Marshall's  kindly  assurances  and  the 
testimony  of  his  own  eyes,  he  finally  melted,  and 
as  he  set  back  the  candle  and  removed  his  glasses, 
he  remarked,  in  a  tone  of  the  utmost  humility, 

"  Well — dat's  what  comes  o'  nigger  education! ! 
Des  let  a  nigger  git  fur  enough  along  ter  spell 
out  c-a-t,  cat,  an'  r-a-t,  rat,  an'  a  few  Fus'  Reader 
varmints,  an'  he's  ready  ter  conterdic'  de  whole 
dic'sh'nary. 

"  Des  gimme  dat  word  a  few  times  in  my  ear 
good,  please,  sir.  I  wouldn't  dare  ter  teck  it  in 
thoo  my  eye,  'caze  don'  keer  what  you  say,  when 
a  word  sets  out  wid  r-a-t,  I  gwine  see  a  open-eyed 
rat  settin'  right  at  de  head  of  it  blinkin'  at  me 
ev'y  time  I  looks  at  it." 


AN    EASTEE    SYMBOL 

A    MONOLOGUE    OF    THE    PLANTATION 


AN  EASTEE   SYMBOL 

A  MONOLOGUE   OF  THE  PLANTATION 


Speaker :  A  Black  Girl. 
Time :  Easter  Morning. 

me  knockin'  at  yo'  do'  so  early, 
Miss  Bettie,  but  I'se  in  trouble.     Don't 
set  np  in  bed.     Jes'  lay  still  an'  lemme 
talk  to  yer. 

"  I  come  to  ax  yer  to  please  ma'am  loand  me  a 
pair  o'  wings,  mistus.  No'm,  I  ain't  crazy.  I 
mean  what  I  say. 

"  Yon  see,  to-day's  Easter  Snnday,  Miss  Bettie, 
an'  we  havin'  a  high  time  in  our  chu'ch.  An'  I'se 
gwine  sing  de  special  Easter  carol,  wid  Freckled 
Frances  an'  Lame  Jane  jinin'  in  de  chorus  in 
our  choir.  Hit's  one  o'  deze  heah  visible  choirs 
sot  up  nex'  to  de  pulpit  in  front  o'  de  congerga- 
tion. 

175 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"Of  co'se,  me  singin'  de  high  solo  makes  me 
de  principlest  figgur,  so  we  'ranged  fnr  me  to 
stan'  in  de  middle,  wid  Frances  an'  Jake  on  my 
right  an"  lef  sides,  an'  I  got  a  bran  new  white 
tarlton  frock  wid  spangles  on  it,  an'  a  Easter  lily 
wreath  all  ready.  Of  co'se,  me  bein'  de  fnst 
singer,  dat  entitles  me  to  wear  de  highest  pin- 
mage,  an'  Frances,  she  knows  dat,  an'  she  'lowed 
to  me  she  was  gwine  wear  dat  white  nainsook 
lawn  yon  gi'n  'er,  an'  des  a  plain  secondary  hat, 
an'  at  de  p'inted  time  we  all  three  got  to  rise 
an'  courtesy  to  de  congergation,  an'  den  bn'st  into 
song.  Lame  Jake  gwine  wear  dat  white  dnck  suit 
o'  Marse  John's  an'  a  Easter  lily  in  his  button-hole. 

"Well,  hit  was  all  fixed  dat-a-way,  peaceable 
an'  proper,  but  you  know  de  trouble  is  Freckled 
Frances  is  jealous-hearted,  an'  she  ain't  got  no 
principle.  I  tell  you,  Miss  Bettie,  when  niggers 
gits  white  enough  to  freckle,  you  look  out  for 
'em  !  Dey  jes  advanced  fur  enough  along  to 
show  white  ambition  an'  nigger  principle  !  An' 
dat's  a  dange'ous  mixture  ! 

"An'  Frances — ?  She  ain't  got  no  mo'  prin 
ciple  'n  a  suck-aig  dorg  !  Ever  sence  we  'ranged 
dat  Easter  programme,  she  been  studyin'  up  some 
owdacious  way  to  outdo  me  to-day  in  de  face  of 
eve'ybody. 

176 


AN    EASTER    SYMBOL 

"But  Fm  jes  one  too  many  fur  any  yaller 
freckled-faced  nigger.  Fm  black — but  dey's  a 
heap  o'  trouble  come  out  o'  ink  bottles  befo'  to 
day  ! 

"  I  done  had  my  eye  on  Frances  !  AIL'  fur  de 
las'  endurin'  week  I  taken  notice  ev'ry  time  we 
had  a  choir  practising  Frances,  she'd  fetch  in 
some  talk  about  butterflies  bein'  a  Easter  sign  o' 
de  resurrection  o'  de  dead,  an'  all  sech  as  dat. 
Well,  I  know  Frances  don't  keer  no  mo'  'bout  de 
resurrection  o'  de  dead  'n  nothin'.  Frances  is 
too  tuck  up  wid  dis  life  fur  dat !  So  I  watched 
her.  An'  las'  night  I  ketched  up  wid  'er. 

"  You  know  dat  grea'  big  silk  paper  butterfly 
dat  you  had  on  yo'  Banner  lamp,  Miss  Bettie  ? 
She's  got  it  pyerched  up  on  a  wire  on  top  o'  dat 
secondary  hat,  an'  she's  a-fixin'  it  to  wear  it  to 
church  to-day.  But  she  don't  know  I  know  it. 
You  see,  she  knows  I  kin  sing  all  over  her,  an' 
dat's  huccome  she's  a-projectin'  to  ketch  de  eyes 
o'  de  congergation ! 

' '  But  ef  you'll  he'p  me  out,  Miss  Bettie,  we'll 
fix  'er.  You  know  dem  yaller  gauzy  wings  you 
wo'e  in  de  tableaux  ?  Ef  you'll  loand  'em  to  me  an' 
help  me  on  wid  'em  terreckly  when  Fm  dressed, 
I'll  be  a  whole  live  butterfly,  an'  I  bet  yer  when 
I  flutters  into  dat  choir,  Freckled  Frances  '11 
M  177 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

feel  like  snatchin'  dat  lamp  shade  off  her  hat, 
sho's  you  born  !  An'  fur  once-t  Fm  proud  I'm 
so  black  complected,  caze  black  an'  yaller,  dey 
goes  together  fur  butterflies  ! 

"  Frances  'lowed  to  kill  me  out  to-day,  but  I 
lay  when  she  sets  eyes  on  de  yaller-winged  but 
terfly  she'll  'preciate  de  resurrection  o'  de  dead 
ef  she  never  done  it  befo'  in  her  life." 


CHEISTMAS  AT  THE  THIMBLES' 


CHKISTMAS  AT  THE  TKIMBLES' 


$art  31 

Time:  Daylight,  the  day  before  Christmas. 
Place:  Rowton's  store,  Simpkinsville. 

First  Monologue,  by  Mr.  Trimble: 

«  TTTHOA-A- A,  there,  ck,  ck,  ck  !    Back, 

yy      now,  Jinny  !     Hello,  Eowton  !     Here 

we  come,  Jinny  an'  me — six  miles  in 

the  slush  up  to  the  hub,  an'  Jinny  with  a  un- 

weaned  colt  at  home.     Whoa-a-a,  there  ! 

"  It's  good  Christmus  don't  come  but  once-t  a 
year — ain't  it,  Jinny  ? 

' '  Well,  Rowton,  you're  what  I  call  a  pro-gress- 
ive  business  man,  that's  what  you  are.  Blest  ef 
he  ain't  hired  a  whole  row  o'  little  niggers  to 
stand  out  in  front  of  'is  sto'e  an'  hold  horses 
— while  he  takes  his  customers  inside  to  fleece 


181 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

"  Come  here,  Pop-Eyes,  yon  third  feller,  an' 
ketch  aholt  o'  Jinny's  bridle.  I  always  did  like 
pop-eyed  niggers.  They  look  so  God-forsaken 
an'  ugly.  A  feller  thet's  afflicted  with  yo'  style 
o'  beauty  ought  to  have  favors  showed  him,  an' 
that's  why  I  intend  for  you  to  make  the  first 
extry  to-day.  The  boy  thet  holds  my  horse  of 
a  Christmus  Eve  always  earns  a  dollar.  Don't 
try  to  open  yo'  eyes  no  wider — I  mean  what  I 
say.  How  did  Rowton  manage  to  git  you  fellers 
up  so  early,  I  wonder.  Give  out  thet  he'd  hire 
the  first  ten  that  come,  did  he  ?  An'  gives  each 
feller  his  dinner  an'  a  hat. 

"  I  was  half  afeered  you  wouldn't  be  open  yet, 
Rowton — but  I  was  determined  to  git  ahead  o' 
the  Christmus  crowd,  an'  I  started  by  starlight. 
I  ca'culate  to  meet  'em  all  a-goin'  back. 

"  Well,  I  vow,  ef  yo'  sto'e  don't  look  purty. 
Wish  she  could  see  it.  She'd  have  some  idee  of 
New  York.  But,  of  co'se,  I  couldn't  fetch  her 
to-day,  an'  me  a-comin'  specially  to  pick  out  her 
Christmus  gif.  She's  jest  like  a  child.  Ef  she 
s'picions  befo'  hand  what  she's  a-goin'  to  git,  why, 
she  don't  want  it. 

"  I  notice  when  I  set  on  these  soap-boxes,  my 
pockets  is  jest  about  even  with  yo'  cash-drawer, 
Rowton.  Well,  that's  what  we're  here  for, 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

Fetch  out  all  yo'  parties,  now,  an'  lay  'em  along 
on  the  counter.  You  know  her,  an5  she  ain't 
to  be  fooled  in  quality.  Reckon  I  will  walk 
around  a  little  an'  see  what  you've  got.  I  'ain't 
got  a  idee  on  earth  what  to  buy,  from  a  broach 
to  a  barouche.  Let's  look  over  some  o'  yo'  silver 
things,  Rowton.  Josh  Porter  showed  me  a  but 
ter-dish  you  sold  him  with  a  silver  cow  on  the 
led  of  it,  an'  I  was  a-wonderin'  ef,  maybe,  you 
didn't  have  another. 

"  That's  it.  That's  a  mighty  fine  idee,  a  statue 
like  that  is.  It  sort  o'  designates  a  thing.  D'rec'- 
ly  a  person  saw  the  cow,  now,  he'd  s'picion  the 
butter  inside  the  dish.  Of  co'se,  he'd  know 
they  wouldn't  hardly  be  hay  in  it — no,  ez  you 
say,  '  nor  a  calf.'  No  doubt  wife  '11  be  a-wantin' 
one  o'  these  cow-topped  ones  quick  ez  she  sees 
Josh's  wife's.  She'll  see  the  p'int  in  a  minute 
— of  the  cow,  I  mean.  But,  of  co'se,  I  wouldn't 
think  o'  gittin'  her  the  same  thing  Josh  's  got  for 
Helen,  noways.  We're  too  near  neighbors  for 
that.  Th'  ain't  no  fun  in  borryin'  duplicates 
over  a  stile  when  company  drops  in  sudden,  with 
out  a  minute's  warnin'. 

"No,  you  needn't  call  my  attention  to  that 
tiltin'  ice-pitcher.  I  seen  it  soon  ez  I  approached 
the  case.  Didn't  you  take  notice  to  me  a-liftin' 
183 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

my  hat  ?  That  was  what  I  was  a-bowin'  to,  that 
pitcher  was.  No,  that's  the  thing  wife  hankers 
after,  an'  I  know  it,  an'  it's  the  one  thing  I'll 
never  buy  her.  Not  thet  I'd  begrudge  it  to  her — 
but  to  tell  the  truth  it'd  pleg  me  to  have  to  live 
with  the  thing.  I  wouldn't  mind  it  on  Sundays 
or  when  they  was  company  in  the  house,  but  I 
like  to  take  off  my  coat,  hot  days,  an'  set  around 
in  my  shirt-sleeves,  an'  I  doubt  ef  I'd  have  the 
cheek  to  do  it  in  the  face  of  sech  a  thing  as  that. 

"  Fact  is,  when  I  come  into  a  room  where  one 
of  'em  is,  I  sort  o'  look  for  it  to  tilt  over  of  its 
own  accord  an'  bow  to  me  an'  ask  me  to  'be 
seated/ 

"You  needn't  to  laugh.  Of  co'se,  they^s  a 
reason  for  it — but  it's  so.  I'm  jest  that  big  of 
a  ninny.  Ricollec'  Jedge  Robinson,  he  used  to 
have  one  of  'em — jest  about  the  size  o'  this  one 
— two  goblets  an'  a  bowl — an'  when  I'd  go  up  to 
the  house  on  a  errand  for  pa,  time  pa  was  dis- 
tric'  coroner,  the  j  edge's  mother-in-law,  ol'  Mis' 
Meredy,  she'd  be  settin'  in  the  back  room  a- 
sewin,'  an'  when  the  black  gal  would  let  me  in 
the  front  door  she'd  sort  o'  whisper  :  '  Invite 
him  to  walk  into  the  parlor  and  be  seated.'  I'd 
overhear  her  say  it,  an'  I'd  turn  into  the  par 
lor,  an'  first  thing  I'd  see'd  be  that  ice-pitcher. 
184 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES* 

I  don't  think  anybody  can  set  down  good,  no 
ways,  when  they're  ast  to  fbe  seated/  an'  when, 
in  addition  to  that,  I'd  meet  the  swingin'  ice- 
pitcher  half  way  to  the  patent  rocker,  I  didn't 
have  no  mo'  consciousness  where  I  was  a-settin' 
than  nothin'.  An'  like  ez  not  the  rocker'd 
squawk  first  strain  I  put  on  it.  She  wasn't  no 
mo'n  a  sort  o'  swingin'  ice-pitcher  herself,  ol' 
Mis'  Meredy  wasn't — walkin'  round  the  house 
weekdays  dressed  in  black  silk,  with  a  lace  cap 
on  her  head,  an'  half  insultin'  his  company  thet 
he'd  knowed  all  his  life.  I  did  threaten  once-t  to 
tell  her,  '  No,  thank  you,  ma'am,  I  don't  keer  to 
be  seated — but  I'll  set  doivn  ef  it's  agreeable,' 
but  when  the  time  would  come  I'd  turn  round 
an'  there'd  be  the  ice-pitcher.  An'  after  that  I 
couldn't  be  expected  to  do  nothin'  but  back  into 
the  parlor  over  the  Brussels  carpet  an'  chaw  my 
hat-brim.  But,  of  co'se,  I  was  young  then. 

"  Reckon  you've  heerd  the  tale  they  tell  on 
Aleck  Turnbull  the  day  he  went  there  in  the 
old  lady's  time.  She  had  him  ast  into  the 
cushioned  sanctuary  —  an'  Aleck  hadn't  seen 
much  them  days  —  an'  what  did  he  do  but 
gawk  around  an'  plump  hisself  down  into  that 
gilt-backed  rocker  with  a  tune-playin'  seat  in  it, 
an',  of  co'se,  quick  ez  his  weight  struck  it,  it 
185 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

started  up  a  jig  tune,  an'  they  say  Aleck  shot 
out  o'  that  door  like  ez  ef  he'd  been  fired  out  of 
a  cannon.  An'  he  never  did  go  back  to  say  what 
he  come  after.  I  doubt  ef  he  ever  knew. 

' ( How  much  did  you  say  for  the  ice-pitcher, 
Rowton  ?  Thirty  dollars — an'  you'll  let  me  have 
it  for — hush,  now,  don't  say  that.  I  don't  see 
how  you  could  stand  so  close  to  it  an'  offer  to 
split  dollars.  Of  co'se  I  ain't  a-buyin'  it,  but 
ef  I  was  I  wouldn't  want  no  reduction  on  it,  I'd 
feel  like  ez  ef  it  would  always  know  it  an'  have 
a  sort  of  contemp'  for  me.  They's  suitableness 
in  all  things.  Besides,  I  never  want  no  reduc 
tion  on  anything  I  buy  for  her,  someways.  Yon 
can  charge  me  reg'lar  prices  an'  make  it  up  on 
the  Christmus  gif  she  buys  for  me — that  is,  ef 
she  buys  it  from  you.  Of  co'se  it'll  be  charged. 
That's  a  mighty  purty  coral  broach,  that  grape- 
bunch  one,  but  she's  so  pink-complected,  I  don't 
know  ez  she'd  become  it.  I  like  this  fish-scale 
set,  myself,  but  she  might  be  prejerdyced  ag'in' 
the  idee  of  it.  You  say  she  admired  that 
hand-merror,  an'  this  pair  o'  side -combs — an' 
she  'lowed  she'd  git  'em  fur  my  Christmus  gif 
ef  she  dared  ?  But,  of  co'se,  she  was  jokin'  about 
that.  Poor  little  thing,  she  ain't  never  got  over 
the  way  folks  run  her  about  that  side-saddle  she 
186 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

give  me  last  Christmas,  though  I  never  did  see 
anything  out  o'  the  way  in  it.  She  knew  thet 
the  greatest  pleasure  o'  my  life  was  in  makin' 
her  happy,  and  she  was  jest  simple-hearted 
enough  to  do  it — that's  all — an5 1  can  truly  say 
thet  I  ain't  never  had  mo*  pleasure  out  of  a 
Christmus  gif  in  my  life  than  Fve  had  out  o' 
that  side-saddle.  She's  been  so  consistent  about 
it — never  used  it  in  her  life  without  a-borryin' 
it  of  me,  an'  she  does  it  so  cunnin'.  Of  co'se  I 
don't  never  loand  it  to  her  without  a  kiss.  They 
ain't  a  cunnin'er  play-actor  on  earth  'n  she  is, 
though  she  ain't  never  been  to  a  theatre — an' 
wouldn't  go,  bein'  too  well  raised. 

"You  say  this  pitcher  wasn't  there  when  she 
was  here — no,  for  ef  it  had  V  been,  I  know  she'd 
V  took  on  over  it.  Th'  ain't  never  been  one  for 
sale  in  Simpkinsville  before.  They've  been  sev 
eral  of  'em  brought  here  by  families  besides  the 
one  old  Mis'  Meredy  presided  over — though  that 
was  one  o'  the  first.  But  wife  is  forever  a-pickin' 
out  purty  patterns  of  'em  in  the  catalogues.  Ef 
that  one  hadn't  V  give  me  such  a  setback  in  my 
early  youth  I'd  git  her  this,  jest  to  please  her. 
Ef  I  was  to  buy  this  one,  it  an'  the  plush  album 
would  set  each  other  off  lovely.  She's  a-buyin' 
it  on  instalments  from  the  same  man  thet  en- 
187 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

larged  her  photograph  to  a'  ile-painted  portrait, 
an'  it's  a  dandy  !  She's  got  me  a-settin'  up  on 
the  front  page,  took  with  my  first  wife,  which  it 
looks  to  me  thet  if  she'd  do  that  much  to  please 
me,  why,  I  might  buy  almost  anything  to  please 
her,  don't  it  ?  Of  co'se  I  don't  take  no  partic'lar 
pleasure  in  that  photograph — but  she  seems  to 
think  I  might,  an'  no  doubt  she's  put  it  there  to 
show  thet  she  ain't  small-minded.  You  ricollec' 
Mary  Jane  was  plain  -  featured,  but  Kitty  don't 
seem  to  mind  that  ez  much  ez  I  do,  now  thet 
she's  gone  an'  her  good  deeds  ain't  in  sight.  I 
never  did  see  no  use  in  throwin'  a  plain-featured 
woman's  looks  up  to  her  post  mortem. 

"This  is  a  mighty  purty  pitcher,  in  my  judg 
ment,  but  to  tell  the  truth  I've  made  so  much 
fun  o'  the  few  swingin'  pitchers  thet's  been  in 
this  town  that  I'd  be  ashamed  to  buy  it,  even  ef 
I  could  git  over  my  own  obnoxion  to  it.  But  of 
co'se,  ez  you  say,  everybody'd  know  thet  I  done 
it  jest  to  please  her — an'  I  don't  know  thet  they's 
a  more  worthy  object  in  a  married  man's  life  than 
that. 

"I  s'pose  I'll  haf  to  git  it  for  her.    An'  I  want 

a  bold,  outspoke  dedication  on  it,  Rowton.  I  ain't 

a-goin'  about  it  shamefaced.     Here,  gimme  that 

pencil.    Now,  I  want  this  inscription  on  it,  word 

188 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

for  word.  Fve  got  to  stop  over  at  Paul's  to  git 
him  to  regulate  my  watch,  an'  Til  tell  him  to 
hurry  an'  mark  it  for  me,  soon  ez  you  send  it 
over. 

"  Well,  so  long.  Happy  Christmus  to  you  an' 
yo'  folks. 

"  Say,  Rowton,  wrap  up  that  little  merror  an' 
them  side-combs  an'  send  'em  along,  too,  please. 
So  long !" 


Time:  Same  morning. 
Place :  Store  in  Washington. 

Second  Monologue,  by  Mrs.  Trimble: 

"  WHY,  howdy,  Mis'  Blakes  —  howdy,  Mis' 
Phemie — howdy,  all.  Good-mornin',  Mr.  Law- 
son.  I  see  yo'  sto'e  is  fillin'  up  early.  Great 
minds  run  in  the  same  channel,  partic'larly  on 
Christmus  Eve. 

"My  old  man  started  off  this  mornin'  befo' 
day,  an'  soon  ez  he  got  out  o'  sight  down  the 
Simpkinsville  road,  I  struck  out  for  Washin'ton, 
an'  here  I  am.  He  thinks  I'm  home  seedin' 
raisins.  He  was  out  by  starlight  this  mornin' 
189 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

with  the  big  wagon,  an',  of  co'se,  I  know  what 
that  means.  He's  gone  for  my  Christmas  gif , 
an'  I'm  pnt  to  it  to  know  what  tremenjus  thing 
he's  a-layin'  ont  to  fetch  me — thet  takes  a  cotton- 
wagon  to  haul  it.  Of  co'se  I  imagine  everything, 
from  a  guyaskntns  down.  I  always  did  like  to 
git  things  too  big  to  go  in  my  stockin'.  What 
yon  say,  Mis'  Blakes  ?  Do  I  hang  np  my  stock- 
in'  ?  Well,  I  reckon.  I  hadn't  quit  when  I  got 
married,  an'  I  think  that's  a  poor  time  to  stop, 
don't  you  ?  Partic'larly  when  you  marry  a  man 
twice-t  yo'  age,  an'  can't  convince  him  thet  you're 
grown,  noways.  Yas,  indeedy,  that  stockin'  goes 
np  to-night — not  mine,  neither,  but  one  I  borry 
from  Aunt  Jane  Peters.  I  don't  wonder  y'  all 
laugh.  Aunt  Jane's  foot  is  a  yard  long  ef  it's  a' 
inch,  but  I'll  find  it  stuffed  to-morrer  mornin', 
even  ef  the  guyaskutus  has  to  be  chained  to  the 
mantel.  An'  it'll  take  me  a  good  hour  to  empty 
it,  for  he  always  puts  a  lot  o'  devilment  in  it,  an' 
I  give  him  a  beatin'  over  the  head  every  non 
sensical  thing  I  find  in  it.  We  have  a  heap  o' 
fun  over  it,  though. 

"He   don't   seem  to  know  I'm  grown,  an'  I 
know  I  don't  know  he's  old. 

"Listen  to  me  runnin'  on,  an'  you  all  nearly 
done  yo'  shoppin'.     Which  do  you  think  would 
190 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

be  the  nicest  to  give  him,  Mr.  Lawson — this  sil 
ver  card-basket,  or  that  Cupid  vase,  or —  ? 

"Y'all  needn't  to  wink.  I  seen  yon,  Mis' 
Blakes.  Ef  I  was  to  pick  ont  a  half  dozen  socks 
for  him  like  them  you're  a-buyin'  for  Mr.  Blakes, 
how  much  fun  do  you  suppose  we'd  have  out  of 
it  ?  Not  much.  Fd  jest  ez  lief  'twasn't  Christ- 
mus — an'  so  would  he — though  they  do  say  his 
first  wife  give  him  a  bolt  o'  domestic  once-t  for 
Christmus,  an'  made  it  up  into  night-shirts  an' 
things  for  him  du'in'  the  year.  Think  of  it.  No, 
I'm  a-goin'  to  git  him  somethin'  thet's  got  some 
git-up  to  it,  an' — an'  it'll  be  either — that — Cupid 
vase  —  or  —  lordy,  Mr.  Lawson,  don't  fetch  out 
that  swingin'  ice-pitcher.  I  glimpsed  it  quick  ez 
I  come  in  the  door,  an',  says  I,  '  Get  thee  behind 
me,  Satan,'  an'  turned  my  back  on  it  immejiate. 

"  But  of  co'se  I  ca'culated  to  git  you  to  fetch 
it  out  jest  for  me  to  look  at,  after  I'd  selected  his 
present.  Ain't  it  a  beauty  ?  Seems  to  me  they 
couldn't  be  a  more  suitable  present  for  a  man— 
ef  he  didn't  hate  'em  so.  No,  Mis'  Blakes,  it 
ain't  only  thet  he  don't  never  drink  ice-water. 
I  wouldn't  mind  a  little  thing  like  that. 

"You  ricollec'  ol'  Mis'  Meredy,  she  used  to 
preside  over  one  thet  they  had,  an'  somehow  he 
taken  a  distaste  to  her  an'  to  ice-pitchers  along 
191 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

with  her,  an'  he  don't  never  lose  a  chance  to  ex 
press  his  disgust.  When  them  new  folks  was  in 
town  last  year  projec'in'  about  the  railroad,  he 
says  to  me,  '  I  hope  they  won't  stay,  they'd  never 
suit  Sirnpkinsville  on  earth.  They're  the  regu 
lar  swingin'  ice-pitcher  sort.  Git  folks  like  that 
in  town  an'  it  wouldn't  be  no  time  befo'  they'd 
start  a-chargin'  pew  rent  in  our  churches.'  We 
was  both  glad  when  they  give  out  thet  they 
wasn't  a-goin'  to  build  the  road.  They  say  rail 
roads  is  mighty  corrupting  an'  me,  with  my  sick 
headaches,  an'  a'  ingine  whistle  in  town,  no  in 
deed  !  Besides,  ef  it  was  to  come  I  know  I'd  be 
the  first  one  run  over.  It's  bad  enough  to  have 
bully  in  our  fields  without  turnin'  steam-ingines 
loose  on  us.  Jest  one  look  at  them  cow-ketchers 
is  enough  to  frustrate  a  person  till  he'd  stand 
stock  still  an'  wait  to  be  run  over — jest  like  poor 
crazy  Mary  done  down  here  to  Cedar  Springs. 

"They  say  crazy  Mary  looked  that  headlight 
full  in  the  face,  jes'  the  same  ez  a  bird  looks  at  a 
snake,  till  the  thing  caught  her,  an'  when  the 
long  freight  train  had  passed  over  her  she  didn't 
have  a  single  remain,  not  a  one,  though  I  always 
thought  they  might  've  gethered  up  enough  to 
give  her  a  funeral.  When  I  die  I  intend  to  have 
a  funeral,  even  if  I'm  drownded  at  sea.  They 
192 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

can  stand  on  the  sho'e,  an'  Fll  be  jest  ez  likely  to 
know  it  ez  them  thet  lay  in  view  lookin'  so  ca'm. 
I've  done  give  him  my  orders,  though  they  ain't 
much  danger  o'  me  dyin'  at  sea,  not  ef  we  stay  in 
Simpkinsville. 

"  How  much  are  them  wilier  rockers,  Mr.  Law- 
son  ?  I  declare  that  one  favors  my  old  man  ez  it 
sets  there,  even  without  him  in  it.  Nine  dollars  ? 
That's  a  good  deal  for  a  pants'-tearin'  chair,  seems 
to  me,  which  them  willers  are,  the  last  one  of  'em, 
an'  I'm  a  mighty  poor  hand  to  darn.  Jest  let  me 
lay  my  stitches  in  colors,  in  the  shape  of  a  flower, 
an'  I  can  darn  ez  well  ez  the  next  one,  but  I  do 
despise  to  fill  up  holes  jest  to  be  a-fillin'.  Yes, 
ez  you  say,  them  silver  -  mounted  brier  -  wood 
pipes  is  mighty  purty,  but  he  smokes  so  much 
ez  it  is,  I  don't  know  ez  I  want  to  encourage 
him.  Besides,  it  seems  a  waste  o'  money  to  buy 
a  Christmus  gif  thet  a  person  has  to  lay  aside 
when  company  comes  in,  an"  a  silver-mounted 
pipe  ain't  no  politer  to  smoke  in  the  presence  o' 
ladies  than  a  corncob  is.  An'  ez  for  when  we're 
by  ourselves — shucks. 

"Ef  you  don't  mind,  Mr.  Lawson,  I'll  stroll 

around  through  the  sto'e  an'  see  what  you've  got 

while  you  wait  on  some  o'  them  thet  know  their 

own  minds.     I  know  mine  well  enough.      What 

N  193 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

/  want  is  that  swing  in'  ice-pitcher,  an'  my  judg 
ment  tells  me  thet  they  ain't  a  more  suitable  pres 
ent  in  yo'  sto'e  for  a  settled  man  thet  has  built 
hisself  a  residence  an'  furnished  it  complete  the 
way  he  has,  but  of  co'se  'twouldn't  never  do.  I 
always  think  how  Fd  enjoy  it  when  the  minister 
called.  I  wonder  what  Mr.  Lawson  thinks  o'  me 
back  here  a-talkin'  to  myself.  I  always  like  to  talk 
about  the  things  I'm  buyin'.  That's  a  mighty 
fine  saddle-blanket,  indeed  it  is.  He  was  talkin' 
about  a  new  saddle-blanket  the  other  day.  But 
that's  a  thing  a  person  could  pick  up  almost  any 
day,  a  saddle-blanket  is.  A'  ice-pitcher  now — 

' '  Say,  Mr.  Lawson,  lemme  look  at  that  tiltin'- 
pitcher  again,  please,  sir.  I  jest  want  to  see  ef 
the  spout  is  gold-lined.  Yes,  so  it  is — an'  little 
holes  down  in  the  throat  of  it,  too.  It  certVy 
is  well  made,  it  cert'n'y  is.  I  s'pose  them  holes 
is  to  strain  out  grasshoppers  or  anything  thet 
might  fall  into  it.  That  musician  thet  choked 
to  death  at  the  barbecue  down  at  Pump.  Springs 
last  summer  might  V  been  livin'  yet  ef  they'd 
had  sech  ez  this  to  pass  water  in,  instid  o'  that 
open  pail.  He's  got  a  mighty  keerless  way  o'  drink- 
in'  out  o'  open  dippers,  too.  No  tellin'  what  he'll 
scoop  up  some  day.  They'd  be  great  safety  for 
him  in  a  pitcher  like  this — ef  I  could  only  make 
194 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

him  see  it.  It  would  seem  a  sort  o'  awkward 
thing  to  pack  out  to  the  well  every  single  time, 
an'  he  won't  drink  no  water  but  what  he  draws 
fresh.  An'  I  s'pose  it  would  look  sort  o'  silly  to 
put  it  in  here  jest  to  drink  it  out  again. 

"  Sir  ?  Oh  yes,  I  saw  them  saddle-bags  hang- 
in'  up  back  there,  an'  they  are  fine,  mighty  fine, 
ez  you  say,  an'  his  are  purty  near  wo'e  out,  but 
lordy,  I  don't  want  to  buy  a  Christmus  gif  thet's 
hung  up  in  the  harness -room  half  the  time. 
What's  that  you  say  ?  Won't  you  all  never  git 
done  a-runnin'  me  about  that  side-saddle  ?  You 
can't  pleg  me  about  that.  I  got  it  for  his  pleas 
ure,  ef  it  was  for  my  use,  an',  come  to  think 
about  it,  I'd  be  jest  reversin'  the  thing  on  the 
pitcher.  It  would  be  for  his  use  an'  my  pleas 
ure.  I  wish  I  could  see  my  way  to  buy  it  for 
him.  Both  goblets  go  with  it,  you  say — an'  the 
slop  bowl  ?  It  cert'n'y  is  handsome — it  cert'n'y 
is.  An'  it's  expensive — nobody  could  accuse  me 
o'  stintin'  'im.  Wonder  why  they  didn't  put 
some  polar  bears  on  the  goblets,  too.  They'd 
V  had  to  be  purty  small  bears,  but  they  could 
V  been  cubs,  easy. 

"I  don't  reely  believe,  Mr.  Lawson,  indeed  I 
don't,  thet  I  could  find  a  mo'  suitable  present  for 
him  ef  I  took  a  month,  an'  I  don't  keer  what  he's 
195 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

a-pickin'  out  for  me  this  minute,  it  can't  be  no 
handsomer  'n  this.  Th'  ain't  no  use — I'll  haf  to 
have  it — for  'im.  Jest  charge  it,  please,  an7  now 
I  want  it  marked.  I'll  pay  cash  for  the  markin', 
out  of  my  egg  money.  An'  I  want  his  full  name. 
Have  it  stamped  on  the  iceberg  right  beside  the 
bear.  '  Ephraim  N.  Trimble.'  No,  you  needn't 
to  spell  out  the  middle  name.  I  should  say  not. 
Ef  you  knew  what  it  was  you  wouldn't  ask  me. 
Why,  it's  Nebuchadnezzar.  It  'd  use  up  the 
whole  iceberg.  Besides,  I  couldn't  never  think 
o'  Nebuchadnezzar  there  an'  not  a  spear  o'  grass 
on  the  whole  lan'scape.  You  needn't  to  laugh. 
I  know  it's  silly,  but  I  always  think  o'  sech  ez 
that.  No,  jest  write  it,  '  Ephraim  N.  Trimble, 
from  his  wife,  Kitty.'  Be  sure  to  put  in  the 
Kitty,  so  in  after  years  it'll  show  which  wife 
give  it  to  him.  Of  co'se,  them  thet  knew  us 
both  would  know  which  one.  Mis'  Mary  Jane 
wouldn't  never  have  approved  of  it  in  the  w"orld. 
Why,  she  used  to  rip  up  her  old  crocheted  tidies 
an'  things  an'  use  'em  over  in  bastin'  thread,  so 
they  tell  me.  She  little  dremp'  who  she  was 
a  -  savin'  for,  poor  thing.  She  was  buyin'  this 
pitcher  then,  but  she  didn't  know  it.  But  I 
keep  a-runnin'  on.  Go  on  with  the  inscription, 
Mr.  Lawson.  What  have  you  got  ?  <  From  his 
196 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

wife,  Kitty' — what's  the  matter  with  '  affectionate 
wife '  ?  You  say  affectionate  is  a  purty  expensive 
word  ?  Bat '  lovin' '  'II  do  jest  ez  well,  an'  it  comes 
cheaper,  yon  say  ?  An'  plain  '  wife '  comes  cheap 
est  of  all  ?  An'  I  don't  know  but  what  it's  mo' 
suitable,  anyhow — at  his  age.  Of  co'se,  you  must 
put  in  the  date,  an'  make  the  '  Kitty '  nice  an' 
fancy,  please.  Lordy,  well,  the  deed's  done — an' 
I  reckon  he'll  threaten  to  divo'ce  me  when  he 
sees  it — till  he  reads  the  inscription.  Better  put 
in  the  i  lovin ','  I  reckon,  an'  put  it  in  capitals — 
they  don't  cost  no  more,  do  they  ?  Well,  good 
bye,  Mr.  Lawson,  I  reckon  you'll  be  glad  to  see  me 
go.  I've  outstayed  every  last  one  thet  was  here 
when  I  come.  Well,  good-bye  !  Have  it  marked 
immejiate,  please,  an'  I'll  call  back  in  an  hour. 
Good-bye,  again  !" 


old  man  Trimble  stood  before  the  fire 
place  at  midnight  that  night,  stuffing  little 
parcels  into  the  deep,  borrowed  stocking,  he 
chuckled  noiselessly,  and  glanced  with  affection 
towards  the  corner  of  the  room  where  his  young 
wife  lay  sleeping.  He  was  a  fat  old  man,  and 
197 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

as  he  stood  with  shaking  sides  in  his  loose, 
home-made  pajamas,  he  would  have  done  credit 
to  a  more  conscious  impersonation  of  old  Santa 
himself. 

His  task  finally  done,  he  glanced  down  at  a 
tall  bundle  that  stood  on  the  floor  almost  im 
mediately  in  front  of  him,  moved  back  with  his 
hands  resting  on  his  hips,  and  thoughtfully 
surveyed  it. 

"  Well,  ef  anybody  had  V  told  it  on  me  I 
never  would  V  believed  it,"  he  said,  under  his 
breath.  "  The  idee  o'  me,  Ephe  Trimble,  settin' 
up  sech  a  thing  ez  that  in  his  house — at  my 
time  o'  life."  Then,  glancing  towards  the 
sleeper,  he  added,  with  a  chuckle,  ' '  an'  ef  they'd 
V  prophesied  it  I  wouldn't  V  believed  sech  ez 
thet,  neither — at  my  time  o'  life — bless  her  little 
curly  head." 

He  sat  down  on  the  floor  beside  the  bundle, 
clipped  the  twine,  and  cautiously  pushed  back 
the  wrappings.  Then,  rising,  he  carefully  set 
each  piece  of  the  water-set  up  above  the  stock 
ing  on  the  mantel.  He  did  not  stop  to  examine 
it.  He  was  anxious  to  get  it  in  place  without 
noise. 

It  made  a  fine  show,  even  in  the  dim,  unsteady 
light  of  the  single   taper  that  burned  in   its 
198 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

tumbler  of  oil  close  beside  the  bed.  Indeed, 
when  it  arose  in  all  its  splendor,  he  was  very 
much  impressed. 

"A  thing  like  that  ought  to  have  a  chandelier 
to  set  it  off  right,"  he  thought — "yas,  and  she'll 
have  one,  too — she'll  have  anything  she  wants — 
thet  I  can  give  her/7 

Sleep  came  slowly  to  the  old  man  that  night, 
and  even  long  after  his  eyes  were  closed,  the 
silver  things  seemed  arrayed  in  line  upon  his 
mental  retina.  And  when,  after  a  long  while, 
he  fell  into  a  troubled  slumber,  it  was  only  to 
dream.  And  in  his  dream  old  Judge  Robinson's 
mother-in-law  seemed  to  come  and  stand  before 
him — black  dress,  side  curls,  and  all — and  when 
he  looked  at  her  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
unabashed — she  began  to  bow,  over  and  over 
again,  and  to  say  with  each  salutation,  "Be 
seated"— "be  seated  "— "  be  seated,"  getting 
farther  and  farther  away  with  each  bow  until 
she  was  a  mere  speck  in  the  distance — and  then 
the  speck  became  a  spot  of  white,  and  he  saw 
that  the  old  lady  had  taken  on  a  spout  and  a 
handle,  and  that  she  was  only  an  ice-pitcher, 
tilting,  and  tilting,  and  tilting — while  from  the 
yellow  spout  came  a  fine  metallic  voice  saying, 
"Be  seated" — "be  seated" — again  and  again. 
199 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Then  there  would  be  a  change.  Two  ladies 
would  appear  approaching  each  other  and  re 
treating — turning  into  two  ice-pitchers,  tilting 
to  each  other,  then  passing  from  tilting  pitchers 
to  bowing  ladies,  until  sometimes  there  seemed 
almost  to  be  a  pitcher  and  a  lady  in  view  at  the 
same  time.  When  he  began  to  look  for  them 
both  at  once  the  dream  became  tantalizing. 
Twin  ladies  and  twin  pitchers — but  never  quite 
clearly  a  lady  and  a  pitcher.  Even  while  the 
vision  tormented  him  it  held  him  fast — perhaps 
because  he  was  tired,  having  lost  his  first  hours 
of  sleep. 

He  was  still  sleeping  soundly,  spite  of  the  dis 
solving  views  of  the  novel  panorama,  when  above 
the  two  voices  that  kept  inviting  him  to  "be 
seated,"  there  arose,  in  muffled  tones  at  first, 
and  then  with  distressing  distinctness,  a  sound 
of  sobbing.  It  made  the  old  man  turn  on  his 
pillow  even  while  he  slept,  for  it  was  the  voice 
of  a  woman,  and  he  was  tender  of  heart.  It 
seemed  in  the  dream  and  yet  not  of  it — this 
awful,  suppressed  sobbing  that  disturbed  his 
slumber,  but  was  not  quite  strong  enough  to 
break  it.  But  presently,  instead  of  the  muffled 
sob,  there  came  a  cumulative  outburst,  like  that 
of  a  too  hard-pressed  turkey-gobbler  forced  to 
200 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

the  wall.  He  thought  it  was  the  old  black 
gobbler  at  first,  and  he  even  said,  "  Shoo/'  as  he 
sprang  from  his  bed.  Bat  a  repetition  of  the 
sound  sent  him  bounding  through  the  open 
door  into  the  dining-room,  dazed  and  trembling. 

Seated  beside  the  dining-table  there,  with  her 
head  buried  in  her  arms,  sat  his  little  wife. 
Before  her,  ranged  in  line  upon  the  table,  stood 
the  silver  water-set — her  present  to  him.  He 
was  beside  her  in  a  moment — leaning  over  her, 
his  arms  about  her  shoulders. 

"  Why,  honey/''  he  exclaimed,  "  what  on 
earth—" 

At  this  she  only  cried  the  louder.  There  was 
no  further  need  for  restraint.  The  old  man 
scratched  his  head.  He  was  very  much  dis 
tressed. 

"Why,  honey /'he  repeated,  "tell  its  old  man 
all  about  it.  Didn't  it  like  the  purty  pitcher 
thet  its  old  husband  bought  for  it  ?  Was  it  too 
big — or  too  little — or  too  heavy  for  it  to  tote  all 
the  way  out  here  from  that  high  mantel  ?  Why 
didn't  it  wake  up  its  lazy  ol'  man  and  make  him 
pack  it  out  here  for  it  ?" 

It  was  no  use.  She  was  crying  louder  than 
ever.  He  did  not  know  what  to  do.  He  began 
to  be  cold  and  he  saw  that  she  was  shivering. 
231 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

There  was  no  fire  in  the  dining-room.  He  must 
do  something.  ( '  Tell  its  old  man  what  it  would 
V  ruther  had,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  jest 
tell  him,  ef  it  don't  like  its  pitcher — " 

At  this  she  made  several  efforts  to  speak,  her 
voice  breaking  in  real  turkey-gobbler  sobs  each 
time,  but  finally  she  managed  to  wail : 

"It  ain't  m-m-m-mi-i-i-ne !" 

"Not  yours  !  Why,  honey.  What  can  she 
mean  ?  Did  it  think  I  bought  it  for  anybody 
else  ?  Ain't  yours  !  Well,  I  like  that.  Lemme 
fetch  that  lamp  over  here  till  you  read  the 
writin'  on  the  side  of  it,  an'  I'll  show  you  whose 
it  is."  He  brought  the  lamp. 

"  Read  that,  now.  Why,  honey  !  Wh— wh— 
wh — what  in  thunder  an'  lightnin'  !  They've 
done  gone  an'  reversed  it.  The  fool's  put  my 
name  first  —  e  Ephraim  N.  Trimble.  From — 
his—' 

"  Why,  Jerusalem  jinger  ! 

"  No  wonder  she  thought  I  was  a  low-down 
dog — to  buy  sech  a  thing  an'  mark  it  in  my  own 
name — no  wonder — here  on  Christmus,  too.  The 
idee  o'  Rowton  not  seein'  to  it  thet  it  was  done 
right—" 

By  this  time  the  little  woman  had  somewhat 
recovered  herself.  Still,  she  stammered  fearfully. 
202 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

' '  R-r-r-owton  ain't  never  s-s-s-saw  that  pitch 
er.  It  come  from  L-1-l-awson's,  d-d-down  at 
Washington,  an'  I  b-bonght  it  for  y-y-y-yon  \" 

"Why,  honey  —  darlin' — "  A  sudden  light 
came  into  the  old  man's  eyes.  He  seized  the  lamp 
and  hnrried  to  the  door  of  the  bed-chamber,  and 
looked  in.  This  was  enough.  Perhaps  it  was 
mean — but  he  could  not  help  it — he  set  the  lamp 
down  on  the  table,  dropped  into  a  chair,  and 
fairly  howled  with  laughter. 

"  No  wonder  I  dremp'  ol'  Mis'  Meredy  was 
twins!"  he  screamed.  "Why,  h-h-honey,"  he 
was  nearly  splitting  his  old  sides — "  why,  honey, 
I  ain't  seen  a  thing  but  these  two  swingin'  pitch 
ers  all  night.  They've  been  dancin'  before  me 
— them  an'  what  seemed  like  a  pair  o'  ol'  Mis' 
Meredys,  an'  between  'em  all  I  ain't  slep'  a 
wink." 

"  N-n-either  have  I.  An'  I  dremp'  about  ol' 
Mis'  M-m-m-eredy,  too.  I  dremp'  she  had  come  to 
live  with  us — an'  thet  y-y-you  an'  me  had  moved 
into  the  back  o'  the  house.  That's  why  I  got  up. 
I  couldn't  sleep  easy,  an'  I  thought  I  might  ez 
well  git  up  an'  see  wh-wh-what  you'd  brought 
me.  But  I  didn't  no  mor'n  glance  at  it.  But 
you  can't  say  you  didn't  sleep,  for  you  was 
a-s-s-snorin'  when  I  come  out  here — " 


MORI  AH'S     MOURNING 

"An'  so  was  you,  honey,  when  I  'ranged  them 
things  on  the  mantel.  Lemme  go  an'  git  the 
other  set  an'  compare  'em.  That  one  I  picked 
out  is  mighty  purty." 

"  I'll  tell  you  befo'  you  fetch  'em  thet  they're 
exactly  alike" — she  began  to  cry  again — e{  even 
to  the  p-p-polar  bear.  I  saw  that  at  a  glance,  an' 
it  makes  it  s-s-so  much  more  ridic' — " 

"  Hush,  honey.  I'm  reely  ashamed  of  you — I 
reely  am.  Seems  to  me  ef  they're  jest  alike,  so 
much  the  better.  What's  the  matter  with  bav 
in'  a  pair  of  'em  ?  We  might  use  one  for  butter 
milk." 

"Th-that  would  be  perfectly  ridiculous.  A 
polar  bear'd  look  like  a  fool  on  a  buttermilk 
pitcher.  N-n-no,  the  place  for  pitchers  like  them 
is  in  halls,  on  tables,  where  anybody  comin'  in 
can  see  'em  an'  stop  an'  git  a  drink.  They 
couldn't  be  nothin'  tackier'n  pourin'  buttermilk 
out  of  a'  ice-pitcher." 

"  Of  co'se,  if  you  say  so,  we  won't — I  jest 
thought  maybe — or,  I  tell  you  what  we  might 
do.  I  could  easy  take  out  a  panel  o'  banisters 
out  of  the  side  po'ch,  an'  put  in  a  pair  o'  stair 
steps,  so  ez  to  make  a  sort  o'  side  entrance  to  the 
house,  an'  we  could  set  one  of  'em  in  it.  I  would 
make  the  pitcher  come  a  little  high,  of  co'se,  but 
204 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

it  would  set  off  that  side  o'  the  house  lovely,  an' 
ef  you  say  so — 

"Lemme  go  git  'em  all  out  here  together." 

As  he  trudged  in  presently  loaded  up  with  the 
duplicate  set  he  said,  "I  wonder  ef  you  know 
what  time  it  is,  wife  ?" 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  the  clock  on 
the  wall. 

"  Don't  look  at  that.  It's  six  o'clock  last 
night  by  that.  I  forgot  to  wind  her  up.  No. 
It's  half-past  three  o'clock — that's  all  it  is."  By 
this  time  he  had  placed  his  water-set  beside  hers 
upon  the  table.  "Why,  honey,"  he  exclaimed, 
"where  on  earth  ?  I  don't  see  a  sign  of  a'  in 
scription  on  this — an'  what  is  this  paper  in  the 
spout  ?  Here,  you  read  it,  wife,  I  ain't  got  my 
specs." 

"  '  Too  busy  to  mark  to-day — send  back  after  Christmas 
— sorry.  ROWTON.'" 

"Why,  it — an*  here's  another  paper.  What 
can  this  be,  I  wonder  ?" 

41  *  To  my  darling  wife,  from  her  affectionate  husband.' " 

The  little  wife  colored  as  she  read  it. 
"  Oh,  that  ain't  nothin'  but  the  motter  he  was 
to  print  on  it.     But  ain't  it  lucky  thet  he  didn't 
205 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

do  it  ?  I'll  change  it— that's  what  I'll  do— for 
anything  you  say.  There,  now.  Don't  that  fix 
it?" 

She  was  very  still  for  a  moment— very  thought 
ful.  "  An'  affectionate  is  a  mighty  expensive 
word,  too,"  she  said,  slowly,  glancing  over  the  in 
tended  inscription,  in  her  husband's  handwrit 
ing.  "Yes.  Your  pitcher  don't  stand  for  a 
thing  but  generosity — an'  mine  don't  mean  a 
thing  but  selfishness.  Yes,  take  it  back,  cert'nly, 
that  is  ef  you'll  get  me  anything  I  want  for  it. 
Will  you  ?" 

"  Shore.  They's  a  cow-topped  butter-dish  an' 
no  end  o'  purty  little  things  out  there  you  might 
like.  An'  ef  it's  goin'  back,  it  better  be  a-goin'. 
I  can  ride  out  to  town  an'  back  befo'  breakfast. 
Come,  kiss  me,  wife." 

She  threw  both  arms  around  her  old  husband's 
neck,  and  kissed  him  on  one  cheek  and  then  on 
the  other.  Then  she  kissed  his  lips.  And  then, 
as  she  went  for  pen  and  paper,  she  said :  "Hurry, 
now,  an'  hitch  up,  an'  I'll  be  writin'  down  what 
I  want  in  exchange — an'  you  can  put  it  in  yo' 
pocket." 

In  a  surprisingly  short  time  the  old  man  was 
on  his  way — a  heaped  basket  beside  him,  a  tiny 
bit  of  writing  in  his  pocket.  When  he  had  turned 
206 


CHRISTMAS    AT    THE    TRIMBLES' 

into  the  road  he  drew  rein  for  a  moment,  lit  a 
match,  and  this  is  what  he  read  : 

"  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND, — I  want  one  silver-mounted  brier- 
wood  pipe  and  a  smoking  set— a  nice  lava  one — and  I  want 
a  set  of  them  fine  overhauls  like  them  that  Mis  Pope  give 
Mr.  Pope  that  time  I  said  she  was  too  extravagant,  and  if 
they's  any  money  left  over  I  want  some  nice  tobacco,  the 
best.  I  want  all  the  price  of  the  ice-set  took  up .  even  to 
them  affectionate  words  they  never  put  on. 

"  Your  affectionate  and  loving  wife, 

"  KITTY." 

When  Ephraim  put  the  little  note  back  in  his 
pocket,  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped 
his  eyes. 

Her  good  neighbors  and  friends,  even  as  far  as 
Simpkinsville  and  Washington,  had  their  little 
jokes  over  Mis'  Trimble's  giving  her  splendor- 
despising  husband  a  swinging  ice  -  pitcher,  but 
they  never  knew  of  the  two  early  trips  of  the 
twin  pitcher,  nor  of  the  midnight  comedy  in 
the  Trimble  home. 

But  the  old  man  often  recalls  it,  and  as  he  sits 
in  his  front  hall  smoking  his  silver-mounted  pipe? 
and  shaking  its  ashes  into  the  lava  bowl  that 
stands  beside  the  ice  -  pitcher  at  his  elbow,  he 
sometimes  chuckles  to  himself. 

Noticing  his  shaking  shoulders  as  he  sat  thus 
207 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

one  day  his  wife  turned  from  the  window,  where 
she  stood  watering  her  geraniums,  and  said  : 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  a-laughin'  at,  honey?" 
(She  often  calls  him  "  honey  "  now.) 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  a-laughin'  ?"  He 
looked  over  his  shoulder  at  her  as  he  spoke. 

"  Why,  I  seen  yo'  shoulders  a-shakin' — that's 
how/'  And  then  she  added,  with  a  laugh,  "  An' 
now  I  see  yo'  reflection  in  the  side  o'  the  ice- 
pitcher,  with  a  zig-zag  grin  on  you  a  mile  long — 
yo'  smile  just  happened  to  strike  a  iceberg." 

He  chuckled  again. 

' <  Is  that  so  ?  Well,  the  truth  is,  I'm  just  sort 
o'  tickled  over  things  in  general,  an'  I'm  a-settin' 
here  gigglin',  jest  from  pure  contentment." 


A  MINOR   CHORD 


A   MIISTOK   CHOBD 


I  AM  an  old  bachelor,  and  I  live  alone  in  my 
corner  upper  room  of  an  ancient  house  of 
CJiambres  garnies,  down  on  the  lower  edge 
of  the  French  quarter  of  New  Orleans. 

When  I  made  my  nest  here,  forty  years  ago,  I 
felt  myself  an  old  man,  and  the  building  was 
even  then  a  dilapidated  old  rookery,  and  since 
then  we — the  house  and  I — have  lapsed  physi 
cally  with  the  decline  of  the  neighborhood  about 
us,  until  now  our  only  claims  to  gentility  are 
perhaps  our  memories  and  our  reserves. 

The  habit  of  introspection  formed  by  so  iso 
lated  an  existence  tends  to  develop  morbid  views 
of  life,  and  throws  one  out  of  sympathetic  rela 
tions  with  the  world  of  progress,  we  are  told ; 
but  is  there  not  some  compensation  for  this  in 
the  acquisition  of  finer  and  more  subtle  percep 
tion  of  things  hidden  from  the  social,  laughing, 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

hurrying  world  ?  So  it  seems  to  me,  and  even 
though  the  nicer  discernment  bring  pain,  as  it 
often  does — as  all  refinement  must — who  would 
yield  it  for  a  grosser  content  resulting  from  a 
duller  vision  ? 

To  contemplate  the  procession  that  passes  daily 
beneath  my  window,  with  its  ever-shifting  pict 
ures  of  sorrow,  of  decrepitude  ill-matched  with 
want,  new  motherhood,  and  mendicancy,  with 
uplifted  eye  and  palm — to  look  down  upon  all 
this  with  only  a  passing  sigh,  as  my  worthy 
but  material  fat  landlady  does,  would  imply 
a  spiritual  blindness  infinitely  worse  than 
the  pang  which  the  keener  perception  in 
duces. 

There  are  in  this  neighborhood  of  moribund 
pretensions  a  few  special  objects  which  strike  a 
note  of  such  sadness  in  my  heart  that  the  most 
exquisite  pain  ensues — a  pain  which  seems  almost 
bodily,  such  as  those  for  which  we  take  physic  ; 
yet  I  could  never  confuse  it  with  the  neuralgic 
dart  which  it  so  nearly  resembles,  so  closely  does 
it  follow  the  sight  or  sound  which  I  know  in 
duces  it. 

There  is  a  young  lawyer  who  passes  twice  a 
day  beneath  my  window.  ...  I  say  he  is  young, 
for  all  the  moving  world  is  young  to  me,  at  eighty 
213 


A    MINOR    CHORD 

— and  yet  he  seems  old  at  five-and-forty,  for  his 
temples  are  white. 

I  know  this  man's  history.  The  only  son  of  a 
proud  house,  handsome,  gifted — even  somewhat 
of  a  poet  in  his  youth  —  he  married  a  soulless 
woman,  who  began  the  ruin  which  the  wine-cup 
finished.  It  is  an  old  story.  In  a  mad  hour  he 
forged  another  man's  name — then,  a  wanderer 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  he  drifted  about  with 
never  a  local  habitation  or  a  name,  until  his  aged 
father  had  made  good  the  price  of  his  honor, 
when  he  came  home  —  "  tramped  home,"  the 
world  says  —  and,  now,  after  years  of  variable 
steadiness,  he  has  built  upon  the  wreck  of  his 
early  life  a  sort  of  questionable  confidence  which 
brings  him  half -averted  recognition ;  and  every 
day,  with  the  gray  always  glistening  on  his  tem 
ples  and  the  clear  profile  of  the  past  outlining 
itself — though  the  high-bred  face  is  low  between 
the  shoulders  now— he  passes  beneath  my  win 
dow  with  halting  step  to  and  from  the  old  court 
house,  where,  by  virtue  of  his  father's  position, 
he  holds  a  minor  office. 

Almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  my  chamber 
this  man  and  his  aged  father  —  the  latter  now  a 
hopeless  paralytic — live  together  in  the  ruins  of 
their  old  home. 

213 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

Year  by  year  the  river,  by  constant  cavings, 
has  swallowed  nearly  all  its  extensive  grounds, 
yet  beyond  the  low-browed  Spanish  cottage  that 
clings  close  within  the  new  levee,  "the  ghost  of 
a  garden  "  fronts  the  river.  Here,  amid  broken 
marbles  —  lyreless  Apollos,  Pegasus  bereft  of 
wings,  and  prostrate  Muses — the  hardier  roses, 
golden-rod,  and  honeysuckle  run  riot  within  the 
old  levee,  between  the  comings  of  the  waters  that 
at  intervals  steal  in  and  threaten  to  swallow  all 
at  a  gulp. 

The  naked  old  house,  grotesquely  guarded  by 
the  stately  skeleton  of  a  moss-grown  oak,  is  thus 
bereft,  by  the  river  in  front  and  the  public  road 
at  its  back,  of  all  but  the  bare  fact  of  survival. 

No  visitor  ever  enters  here ;  but  in  the  sum 
mer  evenings  two  old  men  may  be  seen  creeping 
with  difficult  steps  from  its  low  portal  up  to  the 
brow  of  the  bank,  where  they  sit  in  silence  and 
watch  the  boats  go  by. 

The  picture  is  not  devoid  of  pathos,  and  even 
the  common  people  whisper  together  as  they  look 
upon  the  figures  of  father  and  son  sitting  in  the 
moonlight ;  and  no  one  likes  to  pass  the  door  at 
night,  for  there  are  grewsome  tales  of  ghosts 
afloat,  in  which  decapitated  statues  are  said  to 
stalk  about  the  old  garden  at  nightfall. 
S14 


A    MINOR    CHORD 

A  sigh  always  escapes  me  as  I  look  upon  this 
desolate  scene  ;  but  it  is  not  now,  but  when  the 
old  -  young  man,  the  son,  passes  my  door  each 
day,  carrying  in  his  pale  hands  a  bunch  of  flow 
ers  which  he  keeps  upon  his  desk  in  the  little 
back  office,  that  my  mysterious  pain  possesses  me. 

Why  does  this  hope  -  forsaken  man  carry  a 
bunch  of  flowers  ?  Is  it  the  surviving  poet  with 
in  him  that  finds  companionship  in  them,  or  does 
he  seem  to  see  in  their  pure  hearts,  as  in  a  mir 
ror,  a  reflection  of  his  own  sinless  youth  ? 

These  questions  I  cannot  answer  ;  but  every 
day,  as  he  passes  with  the  flowers,  I  follow  him 
with  fascinated  eye  until  he  is  quite  lost  in  the 
distance,  my  heart  rent  the  while  with  this  inci 
sive  pain. 

Finally,  he  is  lost  to  view.  The  dart  passes 
through  and  out  my  breast,  and,  as  I  turn,  my 
eye  falls  upon  a  pretty  rose-garden  across  the 
way,  where  live  a  mother  and  her  two  daughters. 

Seventeen  years  ago  this  woman's  husband — 
the  father — went  away  and  never  returned.  The 
daughters  are  grown,  and  they  are  poor.  The 
elder  performs  some  clerical  work  up  in  Canal 
Street,  and  I  love  to  watch  her  trig  little  figure 
come  4,nd  go — early  and  late. 
215 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

The  younger,  who  is  fairer,  has  a  lover,  and 
the  two  sit  together  on  a  little  wrought  -  iron 
bench,  or  gather  roses  from  the  box  -  bordered 
beds  in  the  small  inland  garden,  which  lies  be- 
hind  the  moss-grown  wall  and  battened  gate ; 
and  sometimes  the  mother  comes  out  and  smiles 
upon  the  pair. 

The  mother  is  a  gentlewoman,  and  though  she 
wears  a  steel  thimble  with  an  open  top,  like  a 
tailor's,  and  her  finger  is  pricked  with  the  needle, 
she  walks  and  smiles,  even  waters  her  roses, 
with  a  lady's  grace  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
pretty  pink  daughter's  lover  is  less  a  gentleman 
than  this  girl's  lover  should  be  —  less  than  her 
grandfather  must  have  been  when  he  courted  her 
grandmother  in  this  same  rose-garden — less  than 
this  maid's  lover  would  be  if  her  father  had  not 
gone  to  India,  and  her  mother  did  not  sew  seams 
for  a  living. 

As  I  sit  and  watch  this  peaceful  fragment  of 
a  family,  my  heart  seems  to  find  repose  in  its 
apparent  content ;  but  late  at  night,  when  the 
lover  has  gone  and  the  mother  and  daughters 
are  asleep,  when  I  rise  to  close  my  shutters  I  per 
ceive,  between  the  parted  curtains  in  the  moth 
er's  window,  a  light  dimly  burning.  When  I  see 
this  beacon  in  the  deserted  wife's  chamber,  and 
216 


A    MINOR    CHORD 

remember  that  I  have  seen  it  burning  there,  like 
the  faint  but  steadfast  hope  that  refuses  to  be  ex 
tinguished,  for  seventeen  years,  the  pain  of  pains 
comes  into  my  heart. 

There  is  a  little  old  man  with  a  hump  upon 
his  shoulder  who  passes  often  in  the  crowd,  and  a 
sight  of  him  always  awakens  this  pain  within  me. 

It  is  not  the  tragedy  of  senility  which  his  ex 
treme  age  pictures,  nor  yet  the  hump  upon  his 
back,  which  stirs  my  note  of  pain. 

Years  ago  this  man  left  his  wife,  for  a  price, 
to  another  who  had  betrayed  her,  and  disap 
peared  from  the  scene  of  his  ignominy.  When 
the  woman  was  dead  and  her  betrayer  gone,  the 
husband  came  back,  an  old  man ;  and  now,  as  I 
see  him  bending  beneath  its  weight,  the  hump 
upon  his  shoulder  seems  to  be  labelled  with  this 
price  which,  in  my  imagination,  though  original 
ly  the  bag  of  gold,  has  by  a  slow  and  chemically 
unexplained  process  of  ossification,  become  a 
part  of  himself,  and  will  grotesquely  deform  his 
skeleton  a  hundred  years  to  come.  When,  morn 
ing  and  evening,  I  see  this  old  man  trudge  labori 
ously,  staggering  always  towards  the  left,  down 
the  street,  until  he  disappears  in  the  clump  of 
willows  that  overshadow  the  cemetery  gate,  and 
217 


MORIAH'S    MOURNING 

I  know  that  he  is  going  for  a  lonely  vigil  to  the 
grave  of  the  dishonored  woman,  his  lost  wife, 
pain,  keen  as  a  Damascus  blade,  enters  my  heart. 

I  close  my  window  and  come  in,  for  the  night 
dews  are  falling  and  I  am  rheumatic  and  stiff  in 
the  legs. 

So,  every  night,  musing,  I  go  early  to  my  bed, 
but  before  I  lie  down,  after  my  prayer  is  said,  I 
rise  to  put  fresh  water  in  the  vase  of  flowers, 
which  are  always  fresh,  beneath  the  picture 
upon  my  wall. 

For  one  moment  I  stand  and  gaze  into  a  pure, 
girlish  face,  with  a  pallid  brow  and  far-away  blue 
eyes. 

She  was  only  fifteen  years  old,  and  I  twice  as 
many,  when  we  quarrelled  like  foolish  children. 

The  day  she  married  my  brother — my  young 
est,  best-beloved  brother  Benjamin — I  laid  this 
miniature,  face  downward,  in  a  secret  drawer  of 
my  desk. 

In  the  first  year  she  died,  and  in  another  Ben 
jamin  had  taken  to  himself  a  new  wife,  with  mer 
rier  eyes  and  ruddier  lips. 

My  heart  leaped  within  me  when  I  kissed  my 
new  sister,  but  she  knew  not  that  my  joy  was  be 
cause  she  was  giving  me  back  my  love. 
218 


A    MINOR    CHORD 

Trembling  with  ecstasy,  I  took  this  image 
from  its  hiding-place,  and  for  nearly  fifty  years 
the  flowers  beneath  it  have  not  withered. 

As  I  stood  alone  here  one  night,  ere  I  knew  he 
had  entered,  my  little  brother's  hand  was  upon 
my  shoulder.  For  a  moment  only  he  was  silent, 
awe-stricken. 

"  She  was  always  yours,  my  brother,"  he  said, 
presently,  in  a  tremulous  whisper.  "I  did  not 
know  until  it  was  too  late.  She  had  misunder 
stood — but  God  was  very  merciful,"  and  turning 
he  left  her  to  me. 

And  still  each  day  I  lay  fresh  flowers  at  her 
shrine,  cherishing  the  dart  that  rends  my  heart 
the  while,  for  its  testimony  to  the  immortality  of 
my  passion. 

Do  you  smile  because  a  trembling  old  man 
feasts  his  failing  eyes  on  a  fair  woman's  face  and 
prates  of  love  and  flowers  and  beauty  ?  Smile  if 
you  will,  but  if  you  do  it  is  because  you,  being 
of  the  earth,  cannot  understand. 

These  things  are  of  the  spirit ;  and  palsy  and 
rheumatism  and  waning  strength  are  of  the  flesh, 
which  profiteth  nothing. 


THE   END 


UNIVEESITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBEAEY 
BERKELEY 


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NOV  1  1928 

JAN    8    1*2) 

JAN    8   1921 
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